


Broken Carts

by poynter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Co-workers, Friendship/Love, Gay Male Character, Growing Up, Homosexuality, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Male-Female Friendship, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash, Twenty-Somethings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 62,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8058166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poynter/pseuds/poynter
Summary: Milo's used to a certain lifestyle: tons of friends, limitless parties, and no shortage of things to do... until he's forced to leave school and take a job at his hometown grocery store. When a jaded, alcohol-guzzling co-worker takes an interest in Milo, he loses himself in the beginnings of their liquor-soaked downward spiral.





	1. Aisle 1: Introductions

For the first time in my life, my charm was failing to impress. With a PBR nestled in my grip and a painted-on smile, I was struggling to get Hot Cashier Girl to indicate she was listening to my hysterical story about Crazy Lady With All The Reusable Bags. Hot Cashier Girl's gaze jumped from my chin to the bedroom door behind my head. She was chewing gum too, even though she had a beer in her hand– I'd never seen her _not_ chewing gum– and she was rubbing her thumb with the pointed nail of her index finger.

"Then she made me bag all ten cans of cat food separately," I said, throwing in a chuckle.

Hot Cashier Girl appeared unfazed. "She does that every time."

"Oh, really? I wouldn't know. Like, since I'm new and all, I've never cashed her out before." There was a pause. Hot Cashier Girl snapped her gum in time with the music. I wracked my brain for another icebreaker. "So, what do you–"

"I gotta go talk to someone," she interjected. I blinked and she was gone, leaving her half-finished beer on the counter.

My grin faded with disappointment. I checked my phone to avoid looking like I couldn't find anyone to talk to, which was absolutely true, but I didn't want to seem like a lost puppy in front of my new co-workers. Not that I knew any of their names. I was _terrible_ with names. I'd only been working at Vita-Mart for a week; consequently, attending the annual "Employee Appreciation Party" earlier that day with minimal knowledge of my fellow employees was agony.

Hot Cashier Girl– whose name was _right_ on the tip of my tongue, I swear– was the sole person who'd talked to me during my seven days of employment, and that was just because I'd been assigned the register next to hers. I figured the also-annual "Employee Appreciation Party _After_ Party"– hosted by Hot Cashier Girl herself– would be a good way to branch out (and/or make out), but I was losing hope by the minute.

I stood alone for ten minutes before admitting to myself that my companion wasn't eager to come back for more riveting anecdotes. I sighed, finished the PBR, and made a pact with myself: _I'll stick around for another half of a drink. If I'm still a lonely loser at that point, I'll pocket a few beers and head home._

Small talk was achieved with a muscular night shift manager. A congenial custodian with five piercings in one ear handed me a beer from the fridge. But no matter how hard I smiled, how many questions I asked, how goddamn charismatic I was, no one wanted to invite me to join their conversations. I'd officially achieved "Lost Puppy" status and was barreling head-first into "New Kid Hell."

A hand on my shoulder saved me from more uncomfortable idling. "Wanna help me prank my roommate?" asked Hot Cashier Girl, eyes alight with a smidgeon of enthusiasm. The first smidgeon ever, probably.

I smiled out of relief. "I'm all for pranks. What do you want me to do?"

"Not much." In one fluid movement, she grabbed my shoulders and engulfed my mouth in her own. My brain exploded with sparks of excitement, confusion, and the realization that we weren't making out as much as she was trying to suck my lips off. My chapped, chapped lips. _Way to make an impression, Milo,_ was about all I could think. That and, _pleasedon'tletmegetaboner._

Hot Cashier Girl broke away. My hearing, dulled by a sudden rush of blood, returned in time to hear cheers and snickers from surrounding partygoers. For a solid couple of seconds, I felt like the _man_.

She brushed away a piece of hair sticking to her lipstick. "Thanks."

"No... problem," I spat. A foreign piece of gum rattled on my tongue as I spoke. Pepperminty. "Wh... was that the prank?"

She smirked. "That was it."

"Why–"

"Oh my _God_ ," groaned a girl who'd been watching. "Lynette's pretending to be straight again!" A few people laughed.

In that moment, I realized Hot Cashier Girl's name was definitely Lynette. My heart sank. She'd just been stricken from Milo's Availability Radar. "Why did you–"

"Don't worry about it," she said. Her devious tone indicated otherwise.

With a beet-red face and sparks of adrenalin fading in my head, I watched Lynette walk over to someone standing at the bedroom door. She started talking to a guy with dark stubble, a wide grin, and his hands in his pockets. I froze. I _knew_ this dude, but I couldn't place him. The memory was foggy– blurred by alcohol, but also reminiscent of alcohol.

I first met him at the bar next to Vita-Mart, which was aptly named "The Rock Bottom." It was a divey place adorned with photographs of the regulars and local politicians who came in for a pint. I went in there on a whim, feeling confident after a spectacular interview and on-the-spot hire at Vita-Mart.

I lost access to a fake ID when I left the rugby team, but I _had_ gained enough experience within that time to know where I had a chance to get served without being carded. A dingy-looking facade indicated that the place might not care whether I was twenty (which I was) or twenty-one (which I definitely was not). As predicted, the wrinkly bartender frowned at me, but still forked over a beer. I gave him a tip to get on his better side.

I kept to myself in a booth by the window, texting school friends about how I won over the boss at Vita-Mart ("You play bass? _I_ play bass! We should jam sometime!") and assuring them I'd make enough bank to re-enroll in spring semester. With a cold one in my hand and a discount on protein powder looming in my future, things seemed pretty ideal.

The guy– Lynette's stubbly-faced apartment guy– walked into the bar a little while after I did. He eyed me from the pool table as I headed to the bathroom; although I shot him a _I know you're staring at me_ kind of smile,he startled me by speaking up.

"You work there?"

"Huh?"

He nodded to my hands. I was still gripping a _Welcome To Vita-Mart: Information For New Employees_ handbook. Some light reading for the urinal, perhaps.

"Wow. Forgot I was carrying that," I chuckled. He seemed unamused. "Uh, I just got hired, actually."

"Mhm." Standing up straight, he was slightly taller than me, and had the face of someone a few years older. He held a pool cue in his grip, but he was the only one shooting at the table. "I just got hired, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He smirked. "Six years ago."

It was hard to figure out if alcohol was messing with my perception or the guy's humor was drier than the inside of my asshole. "Haha," I ventured. "Well, nice to meet you, new co-worker! I'm Milo." I stuck out my hand. He hesitated before shaking it.

"Ezra," he said, then turned back to his solo pool game without another word. If I hadn't had to pee so badly, I would've been offended he didn't take more of an interest in who the fuck I was.

Ezra escaped my thoughts until I finished my beer, at which point a new bartender was manning the drinks. Reason told me to get a feel for the new guy before trying to get him to serve me without question, but my beer-mongering side said "fuck it," and ordered another Corona at light-speed. Total mistake.

"Need'ta see some ID," the bartender said, striking fear into my heart with every lazily annunciated syllable.

 _Okay, don't panic,_ I told myself. _This is what you've trained for. Remember what the rugby vets told you during alumni weekend: get into character. You_ are _twenty-one. Act surprised, maybe a little annoyed._

Carefully calculating every move, I puffed up my chest and put a hand on my hip. "Well, you see–"

"Milo?" I whipped around, heartbeat racing. Ezra stood behind me with a bewildered look that morphed into a warm grin. "Milo! When the hell'd you get here, man? I've been waiting for you– Jim, get my buddy a beer. On me." He opened his wallet and pulled out a ten.

"The kid's with you, Ezra?" the bartender asked. "Geeze, I was gonna ID him. Doesn't look a day over twenty."

"People tell me that's part of my charm," I joked, relief hitting me like a fucking tsunami.

Ezra led me to a table hidden from the bartender's sight. I sat and glanced up at my savior– just as he was turning to walk away.

"Hey, woah!" I called out to him. "How did you know I wasn't... you know..."

He looked back, expression stoic. "I saw your birthday on your application in the Vita-Mart office," he stated.

"Well, fuck, that's some life-saving information. Thanks."

He shrugged. "See you at work, Milo. Enjoy the beer."

"Wait! I need to pay you back."

He waved his hand dismissively and kept walking.

Though he was my straight-faced guardian angel at the bar, as I struggled to combat social isolation at the employee party, he looked a lot like my last resort.

 _I gotta make an attempt,_ I told myself. _After one awkward silence, I'll get out of here and pretend this party was just a nightmare... well, with a bit of a wet dream thrown in the mix._

"Ezra, right?"

It was instantly clear that this was not the side of Ezra I encountered at the bar. His flushed face displayed a tilted smile, like he'd been grinning to himself. "Hey, it's you!" He clasped my palm in a split-second handshake. "It's underage kid... sorry, that was cruel. Milo!"

"Hey!" I mirrored his excited tone. "I totally forgot you work at Vita-Mart."

"I'm a glorified shelf stocker. I blend into the shadows when I want to." He waved a hand in front of his face and giggled. "I've seen you at the registers lately, though– hey, what was up with that chick with all the reusable bags the other day? Crazy."

My face lit up. "It was _so_ crazy. Let me tell you about it..."

He listened to the whole thing, nodding and laughing at the parts where I wanted someone to nod and laugh. He even asked questions and looked engaged. It was driving me up the wall– was he really the person I met at Rock Bottom?

"I feel bad for you register people," Ezra told me. "You have to handle the weirdos every single fuckin' day. Me, I get the occasional question, but I get to say, ' _sorry, not my department_ ,'" he quoted in a mocking tone.

"But after six years, you must've been through some shit with customers, too," I assumed.

He rolled his eyes. "Fuck, man, let me tell you. One time, this dude was–" His sentence stopped abruptly. He fixed his gaze squarely between my eyes. "You remembered I've been at the Mart for six years?"

"I remember things every once and a while."

"Every once and a while. Same here," he laughed. "Yeah, I've been working at this shit hole since I quit going to college."

"Hey, I kinda quit, too! We're the College Quitters Club!" I exclaimed.

Ezra's expression softened, suddenly brimming with an unexplained warmth. That was definitely the first time my failure was met with a positive reaction. "College Quitters Club," he repeated, somewhat to himself. "You're on to something, I think."

"We should print t-shirts and charge for membership."

"And make a secret handshake."

Despite the fact that I'd thought Ezra's once-dull personality had its edges sharpened by drinking, I was beginning to see the truth. His coherence, his wit, and his demeanor weren't hazy like the average drunk person's; instead, it seemed like the beer in his hand activated his authentic disposition.

Lynette announced she was going to bed, and half of the party wandered off to Rock Bottom. Ezra told me to come along. I followed.

We hung around each other all night. He ordered my drinks so I wouldn't get carded. He taught me how to do a trick shot on the pool table. He told me stories about the cashiers and stockroom workers and maintenance guys. I knew he was drunk when he started looking at me longer, and maybe all the trouble began when I kept gazing back at him, smiling, laughing, and slowly forgetting the misery that haunted me when I returned from school with my tail between my legs.


	2. Aisle 2: Queasiness

It was nine in the morning, I was hungover, and an old dude was pestering me about an expired coupon for paper towels.

"I'm telling you, I tried to use this last week _before_ it expired, and the cashier wouldn't take it! So I'm trying to use it now!"

"Sir, it's not valid. I can't accept it."

"Did you even listen to a word I said?"

_Sir, please vacate the premises before I blow chunks all over your elderly loafers_ is what I wanted to say, but company policy probably would have advised otherwise.

I watched Lynette stifle giggles behind the irate, balding man. An idea formed in my head.

"If you don't accept this, I'm going to call your boss and tell 'em how rude–"

"Sir, I see what you're saying, and I'd like to take your side. However, I don't have the authority to make decisions on these matters. You'll need to talk to my shift manager."

Lynette's amused expression disintegrated immediately.

"Fine, fine, where's your manager?"

"Right behind you, sir," I said, pointing to Lynette as her eyes widened in horror. "She'll be happy to assist you."

It was petty, but casting the old guy away made me feel a lot less nauseous. Not to imply I didn't throw up in the employee bathroom later anyway, because I totally did.

"I'll kill you for that," Lynette threatened after the customer left with his full-price paper towels.

"Please do," I moaned. "Death would be a great alternative to feeling like this."

She folded her arms over her chest. "Can't believe you went to the bar at two AM when you had an 8:30 shift. Y'know, I could get you in so much shit."

"But are you going to?"

"No, because you could get me into shit for hosting that after party. Nadia would murder me in my sleep."

The Vita-Mart boss/overlord, Nadia Iman, liked me– apparently, that made me one of the few. She tried not to make many appearances at the Mart, but the last time she did, I'd been on shift.

"Nice bagging technique," she'd told me. "You have experience, though. I knew you'd be good."

"Please, Nadia. Working at a campus convenience store is so much less _important_ and _thrilling_ than being here at Vita-Mart," I said, tone smooth as butter.

"You're a kiss-ass," she stated bluntly, "but I like it. Keep it up and maybe you can take her job." She gestured to Lynette, who didn't seem pleased to hear that.

Presently, I figured now was as good a time as ever to clear things up. "Could I also get you into shit for that prank last night?"

Lynette wrinkled her forehead. "Prank? What do you– _oh_ , yeah. 'Prank,'" she drew out, making air quotes with her fingers. "Yeah, I guess I might get in a little trouble for that. You should probably invest in some lip balm, by the way."

"Hey! My lips always get chapped this time of year, and–" She giggled. I sighed. "Thanks for the tip. Was your roommate effectively 'pranked' or what?

She blinked. "You didn't ask him?"

"Ask who?"

"My roommate. Ezra." My chest tightened at the sound of his name. "I thought you guys talked, like, all night."

A sensation, separate from the pre-existing nausea, gripped my stomach. "I didn't know you guys live together. He never mentioned it," I told her.

"Maybe he's embarrassed by me," she said with a chuckle. "Which he should be. I mean, I made out with a kid last night."

"Wait, who?" Lynette rolled her eyes. "C'mon, I'm not a kid."

"I've never heard of an adult who needed someone to buy beer for them," she quipped, smirking.

I sighed. "Jesus. Does Ezra tell you everything?"

"Just the fun stuff."

"Okay, then what did he say about your prank?"

"Nosy." Lynette fiddled with a receipt stuck in the register's printer. "Why don't you go ask him yourself? He's working today. Probably in the produce section right now." I started off, but Lynette snapped her fingers at me. "You're on the clock, idiot. That can wait until your break."

"But I only get half an hour!" I whined, secretly planning to spend half that time throwing up.

"Not my problem." She nodded toward a customer with a cart loaded up so heavily, the wheels were about to give out. "But as revenge for that asshole you stuck me with earlier, this one is definitely _your_ problem." She switched off her lane light as the customer approached, deeming me the only available cashier. A vicious smile appeared on her face, but I kind of knew I deserved it.

•

I found him in the bread aisle, tossing loaves of organic whole wheat on a shelf. Ezra, a creature of the night in my mind, seemed out of place illuminated by fluorescent bulbs. The light hung on every tired crease in his skin; the immensity of the bags under his eyes was both troublesome and impressive.

"You're alive!" I called out.

His glance flicked in my direction like a reflex. Silently, he continued to stack products. A loaf of organic eight-grain here, a bag of gluten-free bagels there.

Trying my luck, I drew nearer to him. "Glad you made it to work. Last night was awesome, but I'm definitely paying for it today." Nothing from the peanut gallery. "You feeling as shitty as I am?" He grunted. Or coughed, possibly. I took it as an attempt at communication. "Yeah, dude. Same."

He reached into his ear and pulled out a wireless earbud. "Are you still talking?" His voice sounded like skin scraping on pavement.

"Oh, I didn't know you had those in. I thought you were ignoring me," I said, chuckling at myself.

"I was." He threw a carton of vegan mini-muffins at the back of the shelf. I grimaced at the sound of the crunching plastic.

An uncomfortable hush settled between us. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, desperately trying to come up with ways to diffuse the tension, but it felt like too much to handle with a stomach full of lead and a brain full of slosh.

"Then... I guess... I'll let you keep ignoring me," I muttered.

"Much appreciated." He re-inserted the earbud, signaling the end of our brief conversation.

I stomped through the aisles on the way to the front end, embarrassment melting into red-hot irritation. This March Of Fury ended as my break time wound down to zero and I confronted Lynette, who was blowing a pink-tinted bubble at her register.

"What is _wrong_ with your roommate?"

The bubble popped. "You sure love talking about him. Caught feelings?"

" _God_ no, _definitely_ not, he's just like... it's like..." I paced around my checkout lane, digging fingertips into my forehead. "He's this infuriating little ball of blah when he doesn't have a drink in his hand!"

"That's my 'Ra," she sighed wistfully. I scowled.

•

College-Milo was the golden rookie of the men's rugby team. College-Milo could outdrink seniors and schmooze with professors. College-Milo had sex with ten girls during the first semester of freshman year. College-Milo never had to worry about being lonely.

Home-Milo was different. Home-Milo woke up, went to work, and fell asleep before midnight. Home-Milo jacked off to the same video on PornHub every day. Home-Milo's friends were all at school while he was watching them laugh and smoke and play pong on Snapchat.

That's why, despite fits of anger and annoyance, I was determined to solidify the connection I'd made with Ezra on the night of the party. I had no other options– well, besides Lynette– but the challenge of befriending Ezra's sober side intrigued me.

It's possible I was starved for excitement. There's only so many times you can watch the same porn star take off her bra before you start staring at the weird mole on her boob and worry about her health instead of your erection.

Every day at work, I tried a new approach to getting Ezra's attention.

"You dropped this," I told him on Tuesday, offering a bag of baby carrots that I'd stolen off a shelf. He grabbed it without a word.

"Is the fire alarm going off?" I asked on Wednesday. He took out an earbud, heard nothing, gave me a dirty look, and went back to stacking. _Progress!_ I thought excitedly.

On Thursday, he was seemingly absent from the store. When Lynette told me to run something back to a stockroom worker, I found him propped up against a walk-in freezer, asleep.

I adopted a "cold shoulder" approach on Friday, which garnered unexpected results. "Later, Lynette," Ezra said with a wave after clocking out. There was a moment of hesitation, then finally, "bye, Milo." He exited Vita-Mart before I could say anything.

A smile spread across my face. Lynette raised an eyebrow. "What?" I asked.

She glanced around before speaking. "You should come to the bar with a bunch of us tonight," she nearly whispered.

My grin widened. This had to be a step in the right direction. "I'm honored. Someone has to get me drinks, though–"

"Don't worry about that. Rock Bottom. Ten o'clock."

"I'll be there."

"Good." She paused. "You work tomorrow, right?" I nodded. "Might want to bring an extra Vita-Mart shirt with you."

I crinkled up my forehead. "To the bar? Why?"

"Trust me on this one." She turned away and blew a bubble. It grew to half the size of her face before bursting.


	3. Aisle 3: Signs

"Skeeter brought his DJ shit, so tonight's party is gonna be sick."

"Mhmm."

"I think the women's soccer team is actually gonna come to this one! You're fuckin' missing out, man."

"Yeah, I bet."

A few of my old teammates– Bud, Dumpster, Shortstop, and Stitches, all befitting of their nicknames– had called me on video chat with beers in hand at three in the afternoon. I doodled spirals and rigid peaks on a post-it note as I listened to their plans for the first rugby house party of the semester, and the first I wouldn't be attending since freshman year.

"What's goin' on with you tonight, Techno?" asked Stitches, referring to me by my team-given nickname. "Got any wild plans? Or you just gonna sit at home and jack it?" Everyone on his side snickered.

I cleared my throat. "Honestly Stitches, I was going to do _exactly_ that, but then my co-workers asked me out to the bar."

"How you gonna get in without an ID?" inquired Dumpster, who had been an ID-less rookie until I left school and he became the fortunate recipient of my fake.

"It's a shitty place, they don't give two fucks. Plus, my friend knows the bartenders," I explained.

"You're lucky you met chill people who work at a fucking hippie-ass food store," sniggered Bud. "What're your co-workers like, anyway? A bunch of cocks? Or you got any hot girls to look at?"

"Well, there's this one gorgeous girl who works the register next to mine..."

The guys started hollering and clapping. I felt put on the spot. "What's her name, bro?" demanded Bud as he leaned in toward the keyboard, gearing up to stalk social media. "I gotta check out if she's really hot or, like, a 'Techno's standards have lowered' kind of hot."

I hesitated before answering. "Lynette something... Clifton, I think."

They looked her up. Stitches whistled. Shortstop stared in awe. Bud and Dumpster were practically salivating. _"Fuck,_ man," said Stitches. "You get with that yet?"

Before that moment, I was truly going to tell them she wasn't interested in the genitalia I had to offer; but when I stared at their eager eyes sitting hundreds of miles away, I remembered the mornings we high-fived in the dining hall for achieving sexual conquests and I considered how quickly I would become irrelevant if I didn't answer correctly.

"Yeah," I said. My voice didn't waver as I spoke. "Yeah, I made out with her at a party."

Their frenzied ovation made my pride swell and my stomach sink.

•

Similar to the town in which it resides, Vita-Mart is small. Like, really small. Imagine three checkout lanes packed like sardines at the front of a tin can full of organic fruits and detox teas and all things healthy. Because it's so teeny-tiny, though, the essential oil aisle– which has lavender, eucalyptus, and soothing smells like that– wafts toward the registers, which is a plus.

Not a plus: There's not a lot of people on shift, and the ability to build a posse of co-workers is limited. I capped out at Lynette, Ezra, and the third register person who's only called in when we get new stock mid-week and the town hippies flock to the Mart like starving pigeons. Pretty sure this cashier's name is Denise or Louise or something. One time when she came in, the rush died down quickly and she spent the rest of her shift reciting the entire plot of _Game of Thrones_ to me.

On the night I'd been summoned to Rock Bottom, I arrived fashionably late– "fashionably" meaning almost two hours after ten– but the only people at the bar were some old guys wearing trucker hats. Hoping I hadn't missed the fun, I texted Lynette.

* * *

**YOU**

_Hey! Did you guys leave rock bottom already?_

* * *

**LYNETTE**

_bitch we're still pre gaming_

* * *

**YOU**

_Wow, TFTI_

* * *

**LYNETTE**

_looooool see yaaaa soooon_

* * *

Lynette and some other employees sauntered into the bar ten minutes later. Their rosy-cheeked faces and loud laughter indicated they really had been pre-gaming all night. Ezra wasn't with them.

I offered a small wave. Lynette, who wore towering stilettos paired with jeans and a t-shirt, darted over without wobbling. "Mi-Mi!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around me. She reeked of Fireball. "You baby, you twenty-year-old motherfucker–"

"Not so loud," I whispered fiercely as she squeezed the life out of my neck.

"What do you want? A beer? No, no, no. A shot. Let's do shots."

"Sounds like a plan," I said, grinning at her buzzed enthusiasm. When I opened my wallet to give her cash, she batted at my wrist.

"What are you doing? Let your sugar daddy pay for your drinks!" she giggled.

"Sugar... daddy?"

"Yeah! 'Ra!" I frowned at the suggestion. "He's outside having a cig. Go talk to him!"

When I walked outside, I didn't see Ezra at first. A trail of smoke gave him away, leading me to the far corner of the building. Even when eclipsed by shadows, I could tell he looked nicer than usual– or at least nicer than any time I'd seen him outside of work. His gray hoodie had been traded in for a slick, black jacket. The shoes he wore looked mildly expensive. A lack of stubble was apparent.

At first sight of him, Lynette's words echoed in my head: _sugar daddy_. I shuddered at my own thought and promptly struck the phrase from my mental dictionary. Before approaching, I adopted a neutral expression, unsure of what to expect.

"Got one you can spare?"

He turned his gaze to me. A smile appeared, accented by soft creases near his eyes. Once again, I'd encountered a new Ezra. "Milo, hey." Though he wasn't as intoxicated as Lynette, it was still evident he'd been pre-gaming. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of Newports and a hefty wad of bills. It was hard not to stare at the cash while he grabbed a cigarette.

"Thanks," I said as he handed it to me. "But I'll take the cash instead, if you're offering."

He rolled his eyes. "How do you think I'm gonna pay for drinks?" he retorted.

"I figured you'd use your charm and good looks."

"Man, if only." He took a drag from his cigarette. "I didn't know you were gonna be here tonight."

"Well, maybe if you took out your earbuds once and a while, you'd be in the loop," I said, using the opportunity to grill him.

"Touché," he admitted.

"What do you even listen to, anyway?"

"Nothing special. Just stuff that helps me ride out my hangovers."

"Hangovers," I repeated. "That explains why you're such a dick at work."

"Nah, that's just my personality." I laughed. He didn't.

Lynette tumbled outside and stomped over to us, demanding we come in and listen to "the greatest song ever" that she queued on the jukebox so that "everyone could experience its glory."

As we followed her, Ezra waved away the dollar I offered for the cigarette. "I feel bad enough giving you one for free," he said. "You're gonna start looking older than me."

I didn't recognize the song on the jukebox. This was apparently a mortal sin, because when I admitted it to Lynette, her jaw dropped. She took my phone and wrote something in my notes: _You are a heathen. Listen to Dammit by Blink-182 every day of your life so your soul can be redeemed. Love, Lynette._

Two rounds of shots were shared between the three of us; however, Lynette only got through one before running off to dance with someone. For some dumb reason– probably the part of me that was perpetually living in college– I found it prudent to chase my second shot with her untouched shot. Talk about a mistake. The "chaser" hit my throat like nail polish remover and my facial features contorted in disgust.

Ezra, who apparently drank acetone on the reg, laughed at me after downing his liquor. "Looking good," he joked.

"Shouldn't you be hanging out with everyone instead of making fun of my post-shot face?" I muttered through gritted teeth, my mouth still tingling with the taste of death.

"I don't think they wanna hang with me." He was smiling slightly.

"Because you make fun of their post-shot faces, too?"

"Remember how I said I was a dick and you just laughed it off?" He thumbed through his wad of cash until he landed on a twenty. "Everyone else had the same reaction at first. Then they realized I really _am_ a dick."

"But you're not–"

"What are you drinking?"

"Rum and Coke. But you're not–"

"With a lime?"

"Yeah, sure. You're not a dick–"

"Rum and Coke with a lime and an Old Fashioned," he told the bartender, effectively ending the conversation.

Ezra made no more sense to me on that night than when we'd met. Watching from the Special Hidden Booth where I slurped drinks in the shadows, I saw countless Vita-Mart employees practically lining up to talk to him. Unlike Lynette, he wasn't amassing people by grabbing their waists and pulling them into rowdy dances; he attracted attention by existing.

"Sorry about that," he said, placing a pitcher of beer on the booth's table. "Ryan– he's that annoying redhead from the stockroom– he forced this on me."

The sight of the clear-plastic pitcher brought back memories of older rugby players ordering me to chug while they chanted "rookie, rookie, rookie." Cringe. "Dude, go mingle. You don't have to babysit me if you don't want to," I told Ezra.

"It's not babysitting," he said quickly. "And I don't like to 'mingle.' All anyone ever talks about is mindless shit, and it exhausts me. So, FYI, the minute you start talking about the weather or something dumb like that, I'm gonna drop your ass and go grind with Lynette."

"I'll try to avoid that." I nodded over to Lynette, who was stuffing a dollar into the jukebox. "She's been having the time of her life, huh?"

"She always has the time of her life when she's drunk. Once she chugged half a bottle of Crystal Palace vodka, went to Denny's by herself, and told the waiter it was her birthday. It wasn't," he recounted. "She only realized what happened when she checked her texts in the morning. Apparently she'd given the waiter her number. He sent nude pics as a 'birthday gift.'"

I snorted. "He sure wasted his time."

"Pretty much," he said with a shrug. "She ended up sending the pictures to me so at least someone could get use out of it." He took a sip of his drink, looking strangely proud.

On top of not being good with names, I'm also terrible with signs. I've slipped on tons of wet floors. I've gotten more than one ticket for running a red light. I hooked up with a teammate's girlfriend because I couldn't understand why my friend was shaking his head vigorously while I flirted with her. Signs? Not my thing.

That's why Ezra's not-so-subtle subtleties– the little nuances that make people with typical brains go "that probably was a hint"– flew under my radar. If I was a perceptive type of person, maybe I would've taken the opportunity to ask questions. "Why'd you get use out of those dick pics, Ezra?" or, "did you masturbate to that man's photos, Ezra?" or even, "hey, you're only talking to me because you wanna hook up, right?"

But the opportunity passed. A minute later we were playing two-player flip cup and my mind was swimming in the thin, thin channel that separated Tipsyville and Drunkland.

I'd almost touched down in Buzzed City when Ezra left for the bathroom and Redheaded Ryan swooped into the booth, flanked by a couple of his friends. "New guy!" he bellowed, giving me an unnecessary high five. "Milo, right? Seen you around the store a couple times. Didn't know you were, y'know, legal though. Y'got a little face." He made pinching motions with his fingers.

"Yeah, uh, I turned twenty-one a couple days ago," I lied.

"And you didn't invite us to get piss-faced with you?" he exclaimed, feigning offense.

"I don't even know you," I mumbled.

"Wazzat?"

"Just a cough."

"Right, then– here!" He held out the beer in his hand. "If you chug this, you got what it takes to hang with us."

I scoffed at the bottle, which was only half-full of liquid. "Too easy. How about a real challenge?" my mouth said before my rational side could catch up with it.

The guys struck up a chorus of delighted _oooh_ s. Ryan folded his arms. "Alright! Your buddy didn't touch that drink I got him," he said, indicating the pitcher on the table. "Why don't you chug that down, newbie?"

Like I'd done many times before, I started slugging back the beer to the sounds of riotous cheering. For a second I felt like I was back at school, surrounded by my teammates, drinking a half-price pitcher at happy hour, thinking about girls I wanted to take home.

Then the last bit of beer trickled down my throat, the applause subsided, and I was jerked back to reality by a force comparable to smashing a car into a telephone pole: "You gonna fuck Ezra?"

My eyes twitched open. Every edge in the room looked fuzzy. "Huh?"

"Ezra. Gonna fuck him in the ass or what?" Ryan's grin was overwhelmingly devious.

I assumed this was his shitty way of joking around with the new guy. "Uh, no. We're just hanging out," I stated.

"He's never talked to anyone this long 'cept his roommate, and he's been working here for six frickin' years," Ryan said, hostility gripping his voice. "He's a homo, right? He's gotta be a frickin' homo. His roommate's a lesbo, he's gotta be–"

"I don't know," I interrupted him in a stern tone.

Ryan's smirk widened. "Not talkin' yet, huh? Maybe I'll ask again after you take another pitcher to the face..."

"Milo!"

My neck nearly snapped trying to locate the source of Ezra's voice. To my relief, I found him standing a sizable distance away from the booth, holding a pack of cigarettes. He gestured toward the exit.

_My savior,_ I thought. "Uh, gotta go out for a smoke."

Ryan shouted at me as I scooted out of the booth and hurried away. "We'll talk later, newbie!"

"Not a fucking chance," I whispered. Ezra heard me and snickered.

"Guess you understand why I don't like talking to those guys," he said. "Were they grilling you about something?"

"Yeah, they were..." My sentence stopped short as we crossed the threshold and stepped outside. Cool, nighttime air made my cheeks go numb. "Holy shit," I breathed. "Just realized something."

"What?"

"I am _drunk_."

"Ah, the fabled moment of switching locations and understanding your true level of intoxication," said Ezra wistfully.

"Yeah, no shit," I murmured. "God, what was I saying before? Oh, yeah, those idiots. Ryan straight-up interrogated me about you."

Ezra arched his eyebrows and handed me a cigarette. "What was he asking?"

"Weird shit. Fuck, what was it..." He offered to light me up. "Thanks. Man, I don't know, I think he wants to wear your skin as a suit."

"He probably does," said Ezra. "Every time we go out, he gets all friendly with me, trying to get in my business. Never acknowledges me at work, though."

"It's kind of hard to acknowledge you when you're drowning everyone out with your music and attitude," I remarked.

Ezra shook his head. "Still on that, huh?"

"I'm bitter," I pouted. "And curious. You never told me what you listen to that's so important for curing hangovers."

Something between a grimace and a grin materialized on Ezra's face. "You really wanna know?"

"As long as it's not like, an audiobook of Stalin's autobiography."

"Close. Martha Stewart cookbooks," he said with a smirk. "Kidding. I listen to– ready for this?" I nodded. He lowered his voice. "I listen to ambient sounds. Ocean waves, rain in the jungle, shit like that."

I wanted to laugh– if anyone else had told me the same thing, I would have laughed– but the admission was so unexpected and raw coming from Ezra, I could only revere it as the most brilliant concept I'd ever heard.

"Oh, wow," is all I could say.

He cracked a smile. "Were you expecting _Dammit_ by Blink-182 on repeat?"

"No, it's just a good idea."

"Thanks." He leaned against the building. "I have a reputation to protect, though, so I don't spread that around. Come to think of it, even Lynette doesn't know what I listen to."

"Damn, I must be some kind of special."

"Well, you're the only one who's asked."

"Then I _am_ special."

Ezra's eyes were transfixed by the way my mouth curved into a smile. "Don't tell Lynette you know something she doesn't. She likes being an expert on all things me."

"Lynette. Shit," I whined. "I can't believe I made out with her."

"Considering how fuckin' gay Lynette is, no one could believe it," he remarked.

"I still don't get how it was a prank, though."

A moment of silence endured between us. Ezra seemed taxed to think of a response. "Uh... well, uhm..." he stammered. "I guess... she just wanted to shock me, y'know? Which, I mean, she did."

"Have you gotten her back yet?"

"What?"

"C'mon, it's Hammurabi's Code of Roommate Warfare! Prank for a prank! That's how we did it at school! One time Shortstop woke us all up with water guns to the face–" Filled with drunken energy, I leapt in front of Ezra and brandished an invisible plastic pistol to illustrate my story. "It was like, _pew, pew, pew,_ there was ice-cold water all over my face! And it was the coldest morning of the year!" I grabbed my forehead in anguish as Ezra laughed and laughed.

"So what did you do to that no-good gunslinger?" He shook his fist at the sky, encouraging my raucous behavior.

I held out my hand like I was displaying a work of art. "Picture this: Mid-December. Blizzard conditions. Long day at class for good ol' Shortstop."

"I like where this is headed."

"My buddy Stitches and I do a little research, then go for a foolproof classic." I quieted my voice to an intense whisper. "Bucket of water. Top of the door."

"No way."

"Yes way."

" _Such_ a foolproof classic."

I pretended to open a door with a dopey look on my face, imitated being hit by a deluge of water with appropriate whoosh-ing sounds, then released an agonized cry. "And, scene." Ezra applauded. I bowed.

"Truly a masterpiece of pranking," he commended me.

"Legend has it that Shortstop is still sopping wet to this day."

"So the point of all of that was to tell me I should exact my revenge?"

I haphazardly slung my arm around his shoulder. His muscles tensed at my touch. "I'm not saying you should, I'm saying you need to."

The door to the bar clattered open. Lynette staggered onto the sidewalk, a tall girl in a tight dress hot on her heels. It was painfully clear they were infatuated with one another, dissolving into a mess of giggles after every sentence they spoke.

Ezra glanced over at Lynette. Even in heels, she was still smaller than the other girl. "You think now would be a good time to go for it? Y'know, while she's all cozy with her new boo?"

"Definitely. What kind of stunt are you gonna pull?"

"A 'foolproof classic." He turned his head toward me and focused on the lower half of my face. "Just tell me when she's looking at us." I tried to peek past Ezra to watch Lynette, but my glance kept wandering back to him. "Milo," he said slowly. "Are you watching her or me?"

"I'm... watching her." My arm was still embracing his shoulders.

"Is she looking?"

"I think so."

"Ready?"

"What do you mean–"

All of the signs I'd missed finally made sense when he closed his eyes and tilted his head. Alarms sounded. Flags went up. Holy shit, I thought feverishly. Holy-fucking-shit, he's going to fucking kiss me...

A disgruntled sigh from Ezra interrupted my panic. "She just went back inside." He pulled away and ashed his cigarette on the pavement.

"Wh– you– I didn't know you were going to do _that_ ," I spat out.

"You said 'prank for a prank.' That's pretty straight-forward," he said smugly.

A dark corner of my brain tried to convince me to react with anger. It told me to lash out at him because how dare he and Ryan was right about him being a "homo" and a bunch of infuriated bullshit that didn't add up with the the way I'd tried so hard all week just to get this guy to notice me.

I blinked hard, trying to get separate versions of reality to coexist in my head. "You okay?" asked Ezra. He was so calm, so unaffected.

"I am, I just..." I forced myself to inhale deeply. "So all that was for nothing?"

"Nothing? You nearly experienced something so precious, many would cut off their own dicks for the mere chance to get it," joked Ezra with a dramatic flair, hands on his hips. "Man, if you're gonna disrespect me like that, I should stop getting you drinks."

"Hey, technically Ryan got my last drink."

"Alright, go hang with Ryan."

"I think I'd rather cut off my own dick."

"Good answer. Let's go get plastered."


	4. Aisle 4: Upheaval

There were a few key problems with getting "plastered" by Ezra's standards: first, I'd already taken up residency in Drunkland but still felt inclined to keep up with his alcohol consumption; second, I severely underestimated how much Ezra could drink without getting as wasted as me; third, he and Lynette were terrible influences.

"Finish my drink for me," Lynette kept saying, handing me half-full vodka sours.

"Still not done with your beer?" Ezra would ask with a frown, holding his own empty bottle.

Simply put, the last scraps of my tolerance left over from school were tested. At some point– somewhere between shots of Jameson and what seemed like my five hundredth beer– my memories of the night get muddled.

I remember Lynette giving me a ten dollar bill to play anything I wanted on the jukebox. I don't know what I chose, but I'd wager a guess that Drunk Milo would've queued _Swimming Pools (Drank)_ by Kendrick Lamar at least once or twice.

I remember running away from Ryan whilst spewing comments about the hypothetical size of his penis. Pretty sure I thought I was whispering, but judging from the reactions of the people around me, my voice wasn't much quieter than a full-on yell.

More than anything else, I remember Ezra. In fact, I can scarcely recall anything that doesn't involve him talking to me, smiling at me, or being around me. Incidentally, he was also the focal point of my sole instance of near-sober clarity.

In that moment, Ezra was holding a beer and leaning on the wall. I stood beside him. We were talking, he was laughing, and then I noticed Lynette. She was wrapped up in that tall girl's arms, soaking it in. Seeing her set off a chain reaction in my mind.

"Ezra," I hissed as I scooted closer to him. "Hammurabi's Code of Roommate Warfare."

"What?"

I motioned to Lynette. "Perfect opportunity."

His cheeks looked especially pink. "She's barely paying attention, man."

"She was looking over a second ago. Trust me."

"Trust you? You're drunk," he said through a grin.

"Yeah?" My head drifted toward him on its own. "So are you."

"Considerably less so."

"Okay, but... _still_."

Ezra chuckled at me.

I felt warm breath staining my skin before I noticed the look of longing in his eyes, the same gaze he offered the night we did trick shots on the pool table and laughed about shirts and handshakes we'd never make. I'm not sure if I even had the prank in mind when I leaned in and brought my lips to his.

The kiss was quick, nothing more than a jolt of electricity, but it resonated in my limbs. When we broke apart, I realized Ezra had been smiling the whole time.

"I don't think she saw," he surmised despite maintaining our eye contact.

"Don't think so," I muttered.

"We should try again."

"You think?"

"Definitely."

Then we made out. Like, _made out_. It was a full-on bar hook up, the cringe-worthy type that screams _we're a one-night stand!_ to all onlookers. In retrospect, it was embarrassing and I should've been way more ashamed.

But I was hooked on the warmth Ezra offered. His hands found their way to my waist, and I grabbed on to him for dear life because holy shit, when Ezra stuck his tongue down my throat, he fucking _meant_ it. My head's typical shrieking went mute. I felt unreal. When we split apart, oxygen returned to my lungs like it'd come home from war. We stared at each other for a breathless moment.

Ezra opened his mouth to speak, but it was Lynette who got the first word in. "You guys are gross!"

In response, Ezra smirked and pulled me in for another kiss.

We spouted a consistent stream of stupid jokes to diffuse the tension and mixed them with make-out sessions under the guise of "pranking." All of a sudden we were faced with last call and the pitch-black sky at four in the morning. I remember the chill in the air, tripping on a crack in the sidewalk, the kitchen of Ezra's apartment, kissing in the kitchen of Ezra's apartment, kissing in Ezra's bed, puking in the toilet, wanting to die.

The last memory I have pertains to how much the room was spinning when Ezra placed a glass of water beside me and turned off the light.

•

My phone's alarm rang at eight-fifteen. I woke up shirtless, confused, and alone in Ezra's bed. My pounding head screamed for ibuprofen. My stomach gurgled in pure agony.

It took a couple minutes for me to realize that I was on shift in forty-five minutes and didn't have my uniform with me. Lynette provided me with a women's size medium Vita-Mart shirt and a ride to work. I groaned every time her shitty car hit a bump.

"You shouldn't have slept," she said perkily. "I didn't sleep. That's the secret. I'm on, like, five cups of coffee and Adderall." She blew a bubble. It was orange. I was reminded of my puke.

My too-small shirt was a hot topic of conversation at the Mart. No less than three old ladies and one guy with scary-big muscles had their share of laughs at my expense, but the most striking reaction came from my boss.

"Good morning," Nadia said in her usual, business-like tone. "How's everything going in the front end?"

"Spectacular, Ms. Iman," mused Lynette.

Nadia raised an eyebrow. "'Ms. Iman', huh? You're in a good mood today."

"Just stoked to be alive."

"I'm assuming your cheery attitude has something to do with that hickey," Nadia deadpanned. "Put some cover up on that thing next time, Lyn."

Lynette's face flushed. I hadn't noticed until Nadia pointed it out, but there was a tiny, spotted mark that barely peeked out from under Lynette's shirt collar. It was basically microscopic. This woman had scary powers of perception.

When Nadia turned her stare to me, I braced for impact. "Did we not provide you with the right size of shirt, Milo?" she began. "Or are you auditioning for an adult film after work?"

_Ouch_. "I'm so sorry, Nadia, I just–"

"He spilled coffee on his shirt," Lynette spoke up, her face still red. "It was completely stained. But I had an extra shirt in my car, so I gave it to him." I nodded vigorously. Lynette with hickeys and Adderall instantly became my favorite Lynette.

"I see," said Nadia. "Milo, bring an extra shirt with you next time, yeah?"

"That's what I told him to do in the first place," Lynette muttered, shooting an accusatory glance in my direction.

Nadia nodded curtly. "Glad we're all on the same page. Oh, and if one of you could tell Ezra to come talk to me in my office, it'd be appreciated."

The mention of Ezra's name made me stiffen.

"I'll let you do that," said Lynette once Nadia was out of earshot. "I mean, you probably wanna see him after everything that happened, right? Right?" She nudged me suggestively.

I sighed. "It was a prank, Lynette. Didn't Ezra tell you that?"

"Didn't seem like a prank to me."

"Well, it was," I replied, feeling my chest tighten. "Who's the hickey from?"

"It's not a hickey. It's a gift from an Amazonian Princess," Lynette sighed dreamily.

"Yeah, you kind of looked like an ant next to that chick."

"Not 'chick,' _Amazonian Princess_ ," Lynette growled at me.

"You're pretty crazy on drugs and no sleep."

"I'm always crazy, I just hide it sometimes. Go find my roommate."

Semi-stalking Ezra throughout the week had provided me with a rough estimate of where he could be found during work hours. As I shuffled from location to location, the quickness of my heartbeat became hard to ignore. _Should I greet him with a wave and a casual, "how's it going?"_ I told myself. _Or is that too much? Maybe start out with, "Nadia wants to see you," and then, "rough night, huh?" Shit, I can't launch right into it like that. Just go with the Nadia line and see how he responds._

I walked around for a couple minutes, unable to find the elusive Ezra; however, once I quit mentally re-phrasing my greeting, I started to notice the distinct sound of feet scurrying away every time I thought I was approaching his location. Feeling unwanted, I trudged back to the registers, my pulse refusing to slow down.

"I think he's avoiding me," I deduced.

"Nah," said Lynette.

"Every time I get close, I hear him make a run for it."

"Oh. Maybe that's why I keep seeing him weave in and out of aisles," she commented. "Yeah, he's probably avoiding you."

I swallowed hard. Then I took my break early to huddle over the toilet in the employee bathroom.

It was then I experienced the first pangs of regret. The feeling came in waves, alternating between paralyzing remorse and crippling paranoia. In my head, I'd done something terrible. I'd made out with Ezra in front of the whole fucking bar. Ten Girls in First Semester Milo had made out with a _guy_ in front of _who knows who_. And it wasn't just any guy, but a co-worker whose roommate was always on shift with me. There was no recovering from a blunder like that.

I had to talk myself down from the idea of running out of the store, never returning to Vita-Mart, and evading all of its employees for the rest of my life. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I'd have gone through with that plan. Depending on my mood, the outlook is one of two extremes.

•

Ezra was the second guy I'd made out with. That being said, I also thought the first guy would be the _last_ guy, so it didn't soften the blow of our tryst.

It all happened because Skeeter, artsy black sheep of the rugby team, had been trying to get with some theatre major girl. After a lot of coaxing and a little bribery (a six-pack), I accompanied him to an a capella club party at an off-campus duplex.

One of the people who lived in the house was Vic, a guy from my stats class who was very cool and very gay. We talked and smoked in his room until I was zonked out of my mind on a delightful combination of alcohol and weed. He asked if I'd ever kissed a guy, and I said no; then he asked if I wanted to, and the rest is pretty self-explanatory.

After that, Vic and I never talked in class. It was insanely awkward. But we did make out one other time after Skeeter started banging the girl and I started buying crazy dank weed from one of Vic's roommates.

But the thing about those incidents was that no one saw them happen. Not Skeeter, not the rugby team, not Vic's housemates. There was no way for it to be blown out of proportion or used against me. What happened with Ezra was a horse of a different color. Specifically, the color was a bright shade of I Fucked Up, Badly.

I ended up leaving Vita-Mart early due to a "stomach bug" (AKA: a hangover-induced personal hell) and plodded home. Usually I didn't mind walking to and from work, but when every step felt like one step closer to shitting myself on the pavement, the fifteen-minute stroll turned into a death march.

"Milo? That you?" Dad called out as I entered the house.

"It's me," I answered, kicking off my shoes. They rolled under a chair and out of sight. I sighed.

"Thought you had work until the afternoon. It's not even twelve."

"I felt sick, so the manager let me leave."

My dad was sitting on the couch in the living room with his tablet, scrolling through an article about some Football player. My mom lazed on the recliner across the room from him, biographical book about Prince in her hands. These were their Official Weekend Positions.

Dad eyed me up over the lenses of his glasses, classic stern-father style. "You didn't come home last night."

_Oh, fuck._ I'd been so preoccupied with my personal drama that I forgot to concoct a lie for my parents. "Yeah, I didn't," I began. Dad looked at me expectantly. "Well, see, Evan came home for the weekend. It was a surprise... he surprised me. So I ended up staying over at his house."

"Isn't it only the first weekend of school?" Mom piped up, eyes unmoving from her book. "Does he hate it that much?"

"Uh, he doesn't mind it, just felt like coming home."

"What'd you guys do?" she continued.

"Talked. Got pizza. Played video games–"

"You look hungover," Dad interjected.

"I'm not."

"We agreed on no more alcohol until you're twenty-one."

"Honey, didn't you say there are some nice, used cars over at the lot on Sandhill Street?" Mom asked Dad, using her lightly hostile tone of voice.

Dad nodded. "There's a sale going on, too. But if you're drinking, you can forget about us helping you with the down payment–"

"I know," I said loudly. "I didn't drink last night."

Dad gave me one last pierce-the-soul type of stare, then went back to reading his article. Mom told me to unload the dishwasher when I felt better.

My parents were ill-prepared for a child like me. They fawned over my older brother who had found God during his high school years, reflected those values throughout adolescence, and was the least problematic teenager on earth. Though much of my rebelling happened in secret– I was talented at hiding paraphernalia and had alibis on standby– I still showed a lot of attitude toward my parents as a teenager, sullying their view of me even without any knowledge of my illegal and/or impure activities.

Everything I'd once concealed fell through the cracks after I got in my accident. When a big, fat DWI was stamped on my record, Mom and Dad took it upon themselves to "clean my room," which is parent-speak for "scrounge for evidence our child is the devil." They found enough "evidence" to indict me ten times over. I vividly remember coming home and seeing all of it laid out on the dining room table, arranged like an elaborate Thanksgiving decoration for a really fucked up family. They made me watch as they put each individual bong, bottle of vodka, and condom wrapper in a garbage bag. It was disheartening to say the least. Maybe _scarring_ is a better term to describe seeing the woman who raised you touch your vibrating cock ring.

After I came home hungover from work, my parents decided to burrow even farther up my asshole, constantly pestering me about my whereabouts and friends and work and everything that ever happened in my life. This joint decision to act as human drones made it harder to deal with the shit-storm brewing in my mind as Ezra made a point of going ghost on me every single day at Vita-Mart.

Work turned into a repetitive routine: Lynette would smack her gum and gush about her Amazonian Princess, I'd use my break to search the store for Ezra, customers would question my mental aptitude while I tried to keep all of my emotions packed away in a manner akin to the innards of the Fat Man.

Halfway through the week, my bottled-up feelings were ready to burst and flatten the town. I didn't know exactly what I felt, but I knew I needed someone to talk to. I decided to take desperate measures. As usual, desperate measures entailed a fair amount of straight-up lying.

"We made out really hard. Like, harder than I've ever made out with anyone."

"Even Kristy Cho from freshman year?" said Stitches. Bud elbowed him and snickered.

"Yeah, even her. I'm telling you, it was fucking serious. But now he–" My throat tightened. "Er, _she_ keeps avoiding me at work. She keeps disappearing when I get close to her–"

"Wait, I thought she worked at the register beside you," Bud said. "How the fuck does she get away from you?"

"Uh." This release of emotion was turning out to be more work than it was worth. "She'll just, uh, say she needs something from the back or whatever. I don't know– but what should I do?"

"You wanna date this chick, Techno?" asked Skeeter, who'd been filled in on the falsified Lynette Situation and fiddled with a Rubik's cube on the other side of the video chat.

"I... I don't think so," I said, trying to replace every _chick_ and _girl_ and _her_ with its male counterpart in my head. "It would be weird. Not something I'm comfortable with."

"'Cause she's out of your damn league?" joked Bud.

"I just don't know if I can date someone who's a... co-worker." _Sure, let's go with that._

"So you're trying to fuck her," Skeeter surmised. "A noble pursuit."

An image of Ezra's bed came to mind. "No, no, no. I want to get her to talk to me again."

Bud rolled his eyes. "If you're not gonna try to fuck her, what's the point of talking to her?"

I hesitated. "Friendship?"

My laptop speakers rattled from the intensity of their collective groan.

In the end, I was not provided the release I was looking for. The stress of maintaining another lie with my friends weighed down on me the next day at work as I stared blankly at Lynette. Her mouth was moving, she was trying to relay information, but it wasn't processing.

Eventually, she paused. "Are you even listening to me?"

"What?" I gurgled.

She sighed and leaned on the counter. "You're a useless sack of shit these days, dude."

"Thanks." I rubbed my forehead, hoping to deter an oncoming headache.

"You been drinking too much? Hungover?"

"I haven't drank since last Friday."

"Oh, wow. Sucks to be underage."

"Yepp."

Lynette squinted at me. "Are you okay? You're not your typical, overcompensating self."

"I'm fine, Lynette." My voice cracked, revealing weakness under the surface.

She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms over her chest. "We're getting coffee after work."


	5. Aisle 5: Questions

Lynette was equal parts caring and abrasive with a dash of unhinged thrown in the mix. She changed into a pair of five-inch heels after work and ordered an espresso drink I'd never heard of with extra cinnamon on top of extra whipped cream. I got black coffee and burnt my tongue.

"If it's about 'Ra, you can tell me," she said moments after we sat down with our drinks. "I won't say anything to him."

I wanted to deny her claim, but the words spilled out on their own emotionally-charged wave. "Fuck, I don't know. I guess it's because of all the shit that went down on Friday. Because Ezra and I–" I couldn't quite admit it to myself yet, so my sentence fizzled out. "You, uh, you know what happened... and, well, now I think he hates me. And I don't want that." I paused. "Does he hate me? It seems like he hates me." Lynette didn't answer. Instead, she took out her phone and started typing. I looked at her anxiously as she remained silent. "What are you doing?"

"Asking 'Ra if he hates you."

My jaw dropped. "Shit, don't do that–"

"It's making you, like, depressed. So I'm clearing it up for you." Her phone vibrated. She read the text, then peered up at me. My wide eyes screamed in desperation. "Wanna know what he said, or..."

"Yes, Jesus, just tell me."

"He hates you." My heart sank. It must've shown on my face, because Lynette laughed. "I'm kidding, God! Take a fuckin' joke. Of course he doesn't hate you, idiot."

I sighed, feeling relieved. "Did he say anything else?"

"He's typing." Vibration. "Okay, here it is. 'No, I don't hate him'... you know that part... 'I'm fucking embarrassed about what happened at the Rock though.' He's typing again... 'Are you with him or something?' Oh, shit, am I really that obvious?"

"Embarrassed?" I asked incredulously. " _He's_ embarrassed? I'm mortified."

"Wow, maybe you two should talk it over or something," Lynette said sarcastically.

I shook my head vigorously. "I hardly know him."

"You know him well enough to mack on him all night."

" _Lynette_ ," I cried as she snickered. "It was a way to get back at you for pranking him at that party. A revenge prank." _Making out in his bed while no one was watching? Definitely a prank!_ I thought, thwarting all efforts to discard that memory.

Lynette crinkled up her face. "Yeah, about that." She took a long sip of her coffee before continuing. "I didn't kiss you for a prank. It was a dare. 'Ra dared me."

Color drained from my cheeks. "Why... why would he dare you to kiss me?"

"It was funny, really," she recalled, a grin on her face. "'Ra met you at the bar that one night and thought you were attractive." I nodded slowly, pretending I already knew while my guts twisted into tiny, tiny knots. "He was weird about it, too, 'cause he knew you were younger and you were gonna be working with us. But at that party he couldn't stop looking at you, so I told him to go start a conversation like a normal human being. And I said it'd be easy to make out with you if he just fuckin' tried, and then he was all, 'if it's so easy, then I dare you to make out with him!' And I was like, 'mkay, no problem.' So I did it, and afterwards I was like, 'if I can make out with the hot twink, then _you_ can make out with the hot twink.'"

" _Twink_?" I exclaimed, much louder than intended, causing a passing mother to usher her small children to a table on the other side of the cafe.

Lynette looked puzzled. "What, you identify as a different stereotype of the gay community?"

"I'm not a twink," I interjected. "I'm not... I'm not even gay. I'm straight."

"Really," Lynette commented. "So you've never fucked a guy."

"No," I responded sternly.

"You've never kissed a guy before 'Ra."

"No– well... I mean, yes, but–"

"And you liked it?"

"I guess, but–"

She looked me dead in the eyes. "You're not straight." Each word was annunciated like a dark incantation. She made it sound like a fact to the most undecided parts of my mind.

Lynette ended up giving me Ezra's number. "Zero in on his bullshit," she said. "It's, like, a turn-on for him."

I returned home with my head swimming and retreated to my bed for a while, just kind of lying there like a confused, beached whale. I liked a break in the routine every so often, but this was too much new-ness at once. This was torture.

Ever since the accident I'd stopped trusting myself. When it happened, I was only a couple beers deep– nothing I hadn't overcome before– and crashing my car into a telephone pole made me rethink things. I'd always been so confident, so sure of my actions; but was it safe to have faith in my intuition anymore?

The vicious thoughts, directed straight at the core of me, only increased as time went on. _Why'd I even go to college if I didn't know what I wanted to do?_ was a popular inquiry. It was true, I didn't know what career path I wanted to take. I'd changed majors twice, and was planning a third change for junior year. Every major felt like an ill-fit, and every switch felt like failure.

_Did I even fit in on the rugby team?_ was another one that hit me hard. I wasn't terrible at the sport, but I wasn't motivated to become better than "not terrible" either. My teammates always pushed me to live up to an unwritten standard of manliness. I loved my friends, but being away made me realize how much of myself was constructed while hanging around with them.

Talking to Lynette brought all of these ideas out in full-swing. Now there was a new element to my internal confusion looming in the distance, and it came in the form of Lynette's words echoing in my brain: _You're not straight._ I could've mulled it over and decided, yeah, that's consistent with my thoughts and exploits over the years. But if there was one constant in my life, it was my unwillingness to make things easy for myself.

Instead of coming to terms with my feelings, I ate half a bag of stale pretzels that I found under my bed and made a plan to reject reality: _If I'm not straight, then I'd be nervous about texting Ezra_ , I thought as I stared at his number in my contacts. Was I nervous about texting him? Of-fucking-course I was, but I was stubborn enough to go through with it just to prove a moot point.

* * *

**YOU**

_Hey, it's Milo, Lynette gave me your number_

* * *

I threw my phone across the room and congratulated myself on my display of heterosexuality. When the ringer sounded, I pretended the butterflies in my stomach were a sign of hunger. I shoved more pretzels in my mouth, then waited a couple minutes to check the text.

* * *

**EZRA**

_hi_

* * *

I'd texted a lot of girls in my day. Like, an absurd amount. Mostly with the hope they'd send me nudes, but it was still texting. I'd dealt with aloof girls and knew how to make them go from one-word texts to typing novels. Or, at least, get them to say they didn't want to talk to me. Point is: I knew my way around a texting conversation. Unfortunately, I was learning that all of that practice amounted to jack-shit when faced with something that actually mattered.

* * *

**YOU**

_I'm not really sure how to jump into this but I want to talk about last weekend_

* * *

**EZRA**

_?_

* * *

**YOU**

_Like what happened at rock bottom and stuff_

* * *

**EZRA**

_what about it_

* * *

**YOU**

_Lynette said you're embarrassed. I'm embarrassed too. I didn't mean for it to get out of hand like that_

* * *

**EZRA**

_same_

* * *

**YOU**

_Okay. Are we cool?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_yupp_

* * *

**YOU**

_Great. See you at work tomorrow_

* * *

**EZRA**

_mhm_

* * *

I calmly placed the phone on my nightstand, ate one more stale pretzel, then buried my face in a pillow and screamed until my throat hurt.

He was an asshole, a douchebag, a total fucking man-child with no communication skills. I didn't understand why I cared so much about getting him to talk to me, and at that point, I hoped he never tried to speak to me again. I seethed in bed, jaw clenched and brow furrowed, furiously searching the internet for a high-quality version of _Dammit_ for no reason other than I remembered it sounded angry and my music library only contained EDM and party-centric rap music.

But an hour and a billion repeats of the song later, just as I was about to vent my feelings via vigorous masturbation, my phone went off again.

* * *

**EZRA**

_so what's up?_

* * *

I paused the music and exhaled through my nose like an enraged dragon ready to torch some thatched-roof houses. Among the texts I considered sending were, "I'm just sitting here, thinking about how big of a dick you are," "wondering if your parents are proud of the asshole you've become," and "researching how to get lip replacement surgery because you ruined the ones I have." They were all kind of lame and the last one bordered on flirtatious, so I nixed them.

* * *

**YOU**

_Nothing_

* * *

**EZRA**

_ha, ha_

* * *

**YOU**

_What?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_hitting me with the 1 word answers i see_

* * *

**YOU**

_Maybe_

* * *

**EZRA**

_i know i was being a lil cold earlier ok? this is my attempt to rectify the situation_

* * *

**YOU**

_It's whatever man_

* * *

**EZRA**

_my initial question still stands_

* * *

I could practically see the words leaving his mouth. The image of him grinning in my head made me crave cigarettes and beer. Though I was still a little pissed, I knew his desire to talk to me was too opportune for me to waste. I loosened up.

* * *

**YOU**

_Idk I was listening to that Blink-182 song Lynette played at the bar_

* * *

**EZRA**

_dammit? that's a classic, surprised you never heard it_

* * *

**YOU**

_I never got into that kind of music. It's good tho_

* * *

**EZRA**

_wtf man?_

* * *

**YOU**

_What? Got any music suggestions?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_for the love of god. listen to blink_

* * *

**YOU**

_Just Blink? Anything else?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_start with them and we'll go from there. you gotta ease back into all the teen angst you missed_

* * *

**YOU**

_You're saying you were an angsty teen?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_are we playing 20 questions or something_

* * *

The dickhead within me perked up at the mention of an old favorite that usually resulted in sexting and an eventual blowjob. Not that I was consciously looking for either of those from Ezra.

* * *

 

**YOU**

_Watch what you say, I'm great at that game... so you a virgin? ;)_

* * *

**EZRA**

_ha, ok frat boy_

* * *

**YOU**

_Rugby team actually, close enough tho. Also "my initial question still stands"_

* * *

**EZRA**

_yeah i'm a virgin. i'm waiting until marriage_

* * *

 

**YOU**

_Wait seriously?  
_

* * *

**EZRA**

_no. and that's 2 questions so now i get 2. i'm gonna get a beer and think of a couple good ones_

* * *

**YOU**

_Fuck you_

* * *

**EZRA**

_what's your favorite color and how many people have you slept with_

* * *

**YOU**

_Wow, you're a pro at this game too_

* * *

**EZRA**

_i might be a fuckin champion_

* * *

In order to answer his question, I had to add up bodies. Ten during first semester was an easy-to-remember fact, since I reminded myself of it every day when I was eighteen and a total douche. There were two girls in high school: one that I was dating; one that someone else was dating. I wracked my brain to count five additional drunken hook-ups that I bedded while I was on the rugby team.

* * *

**YOU**

_Color: green. People: 17_

* * *

**EZRA**

_lmao for real?_

* * *

**YOU**

_Being a little judgmental I see_

* * *

**EZRA**

_nah i just took you as more of a purple sort of dude. your turn_

* * *

**YOU**

_Okay... fuck marry kill: redhead Ryan, Nadia Iman, that crazy soccer mom who spilled blueberry juice all over aisle 3 and you had to clean it up_

* * *

**EZRA**

_easy._ _marry soccer mom bc she buys her kids the expensive shit so she must have $$$. fuck nadia bc she definitely wants my body in case you haven't noticed and she'd prob give me a raise. kill ryan bc he's annoying as fuck_

* * *

**YOU**

_He seems like he's been annoying since birth. Also does Nadia seriously want to fuck you?  
_

* * *

**EZRA**

_lol yes she does. she hired me because she thought i was cute. that counts as a question btw_

* * *

**YOU**

_Then she must've hired me because I'm sexy as hell_

* * *

**EZRA**

_whatever helps you sleep at night. my question time now. favorite movie and drug of choice_

* * *

**YOU**

_That's hard... Watchmen for movie. Drug, idk. I like coke better than weed but I also don't, you know?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_yeesh you're thinking too hard_

* * *

**YOU**

_Hey I was just being honest. Who's the last person you slept with?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_name was cal_

* * *

**YOU**

_I'm assuming that's short for "calories" and you fucked a donut_

* * *

**EZRA**

_yupp. who's a better kisser, me or lynette_

* * *

I cringed. The answer was painfully clear, but not something I wanted to confess. I'd already let the whole twenty questions thing slide under my radar, and I wasn't willing to take any further leaps into uncharted territory.

* * *

**YOU**

_You're both on the same level_

* * *

**EZRA**

_wtf! lynette said she tried to eat your face. i gotta be better than that_

* * *

**YOU**

_Is this your way of talking about last weekend or..._

* * *

**EZRA**

_nah our earlier conversation was enough. ask me somethin_

* * *

Still reeling from the close-call posed by his last question, I decided to put Ezra in the same corner.

* * *

**YOU**

_What was your first impression of me?_

* * *

His answer came quicker than I expected it to.

* * *

**EZRA**

_blond_

* * *

**YOU**

_..._

* * *

**EZRA**

_disappointed?_

* * *

Knowing what Lynette had told me earlier, I did feel slighted. Luckily though, I had her information on my side, and I was desperate to have the one-up on him. I decided to get cocky.

* * *

**YOU**

_Nope, cuz I know the truth_

* * *

**EZRA**

_then what's the truth blondie_

* * *

**YOU**

_Hey, you can't lie and ask me to tell the truth FOR you, it doesn't work like that_

* * *

**EZRA**

_sooo you're bluffing_

* * *

**YOU**

_I'm not_

* * *

**EZRA**

_don't believe you_

* * *

Just when I thought all the cards were in my hand, he yanked them away. I folded.

* * *

**YOU**

_Fine, w/e. Your turn_

* * *

**EZRA**

_why did you quit school_

* * *

**YOU**

_You wanna hear the whole thing or just the key parts?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_whole. details are important_

* * *

I wrote out the short story first. It was the version I told my extended family members, since the truth would've been hard to swallow for my ninety-year-old grandmother. It went something like: _I got into a car accident and it shook me up, so I'm taking time off for myself and to make money for a new car._ That was only two facts short of a bold-faced lie.

Next, I typed the version I relayed to close friends and the rugby team: _I was a little buzzed and a deer leapt into the road of fucking nowhere, so I swerved and hit a pole. My parents are so pissed, they made me take a leave of absence._ Closer to the truth, but not quite there.

The reason I told Ezra the full account was because I didn't care. I had no ties to him, and I knew he wouldn't sit around and gossip about my life to anyone. Except possibly Lynette, but I couldn't see her giving a shit.

So I relived the night one more time. It was more difficult than I thought.

* * *

**YOU**

_I was driving home from school for spring break. My rugby team was having a party that night, but so were my friends from home. So I had this plan to party at school then take the backroads home and hit the other festivities..._

* * *

**YOU**

_Too many details? Regretting your decision yet?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_me and my beer are listening intently_

* * *

**YOU**

_I only had a few drinks at the rugby house before I left and I was feeling pretty sober. But all the fucking country roads and farms and fields look the fucking same, so I zoned out until a deer jumped in front of my car_

* * *

**EZRA**

_oooh cliffhanger_

* * *

**YOU**

_I like to build suspense. Anyway I wasn't keen on killing a deer so I swerved hard and crashed into a telephone pole. I was fine but the front of my car was destroyed. When the police came he saw beer in my backseat and realized I was 20 so he breathalyzed me_

* * *

**EZRA**

_new beer and i are on the edge of our seat_

* * *

**YOU**

_I blew a .07_

* * *

**EZRA**

_technically legal_

* * *

**YOU**

_Not if you're under 21_

* * *

**EZRA**

_ahh there's the kicker_

* * *

**YOU**

_Yeah. My parents freaked out. When I was a freshman they told me they'd pay for college as long as I was a good student and didn't get in trouble, so after the accident their financial assistance went poof. Then I was kind of like "fuck it" and left school, at least for a semester. Now I'm living at home and working at vita-mart with no car and I can't even legally drive for another month. So my life was really awesome and now it sucks balls. The end_

* * *

**EZRA**

_you didn't wanna take out student loans or anything_

* * *

**YOU**

_I thought about it but idk it seemed like a lot of hassle_

* * *

**EZRA**

_mhm_

* * *

**YOU**

_Your turn to tell. Why'd you quit school?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_i got kicked out for starting a riot at a party i threw on campus_

* * *

**YOU**

_Dude... you can't just say that and not give details_

* * *

**EZRA**

_lol oh yes i can. i need to get to bed man_

* * *

I'd scarcely realized how late it had gotten. Our conversation had endured throughout the night, complemented by my dive into Blink-182's discography.

* * *

**YOU**

_But we didn't even get to 20 questions..._

* * *

**EZRA**

_ask me 1 more. if it's good enough it'll count for the rest of them_

* * *

He'd given me a lot of power. What I eventually settled on was a question that resonated in my mind almost every time I talked to him. I just hoped he'd tell the truth.

* * *

**YOU**

_Do you only want to talk to me when you're drunk?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_that's your good question?_

* * *

**YOU**

_If you're hesitating answering it I'd say it's pretty good_

* * *

**EZRA**

_ok well i'm not drunk now_

* * *

**YOU**

_You've been drinking beer all night though_

* * *

**EZRA**

_still not drunk_

* * *

**YOU**

_I'll rephrase the question then... do you only want to talk to me when you're drinking?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_you only got 1 question dude you blew it_

* * *

**YOU**

_I'll take that as a yes_

* * *

**EZRA**

_t_ _ake it however you want. night milo_

* * *

**YOU**

_Night Ezra_

* * *

I stayed up until one in the morning to hear all of Blink-182's albums. They didn't give me the insight into Ezra that I wanted to find, but they were kind of catchy. I hoped that counted for something.

•

"You're alright, you know that? I mean, I had my doubts at first, but you turned out to be pretty fuckin' great."

I looked over my shoulder at Lynette, who was unwrapping a new piece of gum. "Is this because I handled that midday rush like a champ?"

She snickered. "I'm talking about your personality, Lo-Lo."

"Lo-Lo?"

"I'm giving the nickname a test run," she told me. "Anyway, like I was saying, you're one of the only genuine people in this place."

"Oh, so that explains why you don't have any friends here."

"See? You go straight for the heart. I respect that." She leaned over my counter and pinched my cheeks. I swatted at her as Nadia walked by.

"Behave, children," Nadia said in a tone devoid of humor.

"Sorry," I grunted. Lynette laughed behind her hand. When Nadia walked into the office, I motioned for Lynette to come closer. "I heard she wants to fuck Ezra. Is that true?"

"Dude, like crazy. 'Ra should've gotten fired by now, but every time he does something wrong she just gives him a slap on the wrist and sends him on his way. And probably stares at his ass as he leaves," she whispered. "At the Vita-Mart Christmas party last year, she drank too much wine and told Louise that she thought about him when she fucked her ex."

I winced. "I'm assuming she doesn't know that he's..."

"Mostly gay? Nope."

"Mostly," I repeated.

She raised an eyebrow. "Thought you were playing twenty questions with 'Ra last night. You didn't ask about his sexuality? Figured it'd be the first thing."

"Holy shit," I muttered. "You guys really do tell each other everything."

"We were playing an _Archer_ drinking game together. Of course I was gonna ask why his phone was blowing up." She blew a small bubble. "And we don't tell each other _everything_. For instance, the conversation you and I had yesterday will remain confidential."

"Thanks."

"But I'm assuming you wussed out of calling him on his bullshit." I gave her a weird look. "Well, if you had, you would've been watching _Archer_ with us last night instead of asking about his sex life via text like a small-dicked college freshman."

"I didn't ask him about–" I sighed. There was no use fighting her sometimes. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm right about these things. Remember that time I told you to bring an extra Vita-Mart t-shirt to the bar? And then you didn't and Nadia got pissed? _Listen_ when I tell you things, Lo-Lo."

The mere mention of the t-shirt fiasco made my cheeks burn in humiliation. Fighting to push back the remnants of that night was hard enough without the constant reminders leading me back to it, like breadcrumbs baiting me to return to the scene of my mistakes.

Despite the drunken blur of the room in my mind's eye, I could still recall the feeling of Ezra's hands pressed against the skin under my shirt and taste the electricity on his lips. Though it was awkward to remember, by far the worst part was the positive feelings that were attached. My heart swelled when I thought about the way he smiled when he kissed, the warmth of his breath on my neck. But I didn't want those favorable emotions. I wanted to feel uncomfortable, to resent him. But I kept falling into my own trap, losing myself in the rush and allowing the recollections to make me bite my lip to maintain a straight face.

It took Lynette bursting out with an excited cry to rip me from my thoughts and unhinge my front teeth from my skin. " _Vinny_! Oh my God!" She sprinted away from her register to hug a blond guy wearing a suit. "What are you doing here?"

"Official business. I'm representing a client that's suing Vita-Mart," Vinny said in a mock-serious tone.

"Cool. Let 'em have it." She playfully punched his arm. "For real, why are you here?"

"I'm running an errand for my boss, I gotta pick up some files about ten minutes from here. Thought I'd make a guest appearance, maybe pick up some coconut water for the road..." When he nodded toward me, I realized I'd been staring at him the whole time. "This the new kid you told me about?"

"That's him," confirmed Lynette.

"Geeze, 'Nette, he doesn't look as much like a gremlin as you told me he did."

"What?" I squeaked.

Vinny laughed. "Kidding. She's only said good things about you."

Lynette grinned and threw her arm around his shoulder. "Lo-Lo, this is my big brother. Big brother, this is Milo, the new meat."

"Call me Vinny," he said, giving my hand a firm shake.

"Nice to meet you," I replied. Usually, I turned on the charm when I met someone. But when my eyes crossed paths with Vinny's, I realized there was no point in trying to charm this guy: he'd seen it all, and could dish it out ten times better than anyone else.

He gave me a wide smile that made me feel like the most important person in the room. Then he turned back to his sister. "I wasn't kidding about the coconut water, 'Nette."

"In the back coolers, by the bread section," she told him.

"Great. I'll be right back."

"Hurry! I wanna tell you about the crazy shit Aunt Coreen posted on Facebook the other day." When she looked back at me, she was still grinning. "He's the best."

"I can tell."

"I barely see him. He lives a couple hours away and he's always super busy because he's almost a lawyer. So when your ass gets busted for underage drinking, he can defend you in court."

"Noted." I glanced up at the clock. "Can I take my break now?"

"Yeah, yeah," she said with a wave of her hand. "Hey, if Vinny got lost looking for his precious coconut water, give him a nudge in the right direction, will you?"

"Lynette, if he gets lost in a store like this, then there's no way I'd trust him to be my lawyer."

"He could get lost in an open field and he'd still be a good lawyer!" she called at me as I walked away. I laughed, and as my voice waned, the sound of a familiar chuckle echoed from the back of the store.

It wasn't like I was particularly stirred by the sight of Ezra and Vinny talking in the bread aisle. I was just wondering why I saw the smile of A Few Beers Deep Ezra even though he was at work. He was chatty too, and I heard the rumble of his voice resonate in my throat while I skulked toward the break room.

_I'm confused, that's all,_ I thought as I mechanically chewed my sandwich. _I simply wanna know why he'll talk to Vinny but not me_ , I thought as I resumed my shift. _I mean, after last night's conversation, I figured he'd give me the time of day,_ I thought as I watched him punch out. _Drinking or not, he asked me some pretty deep questions, the least he could do is acknowledge my existence–_

"You listen to Blink yet?"

"Huh?"

Ezra leaned one arm against the exit door while he shuffled through his jacket pocket. "I told you to listen to Blink. Did you?"

He was actually talking to me. At work. I'd have to mark this day on my calendar. "Oh, yeah, I did. I listened to all their albums."

"All of them? Holy shit."

"Hey, I don't half-ass things."

"You certainly whole-assed that." He found the pack of Senecas hiding in his pocket and looked at Lynette. "I'm picking up Mexican for dinner. _Archer_ , round two?"

"Marry me," she stated.

"Maybe someday. See you at the apartment." He put a cigarette in his mouth, then waved. "Bye, Milo."

I waved back. He pushed through the door and out of the building. Lynette stared intently as he exited.

"It's official," she murmured. "He's a person again."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Just what I said," she responded before turning away to cash out a coupon-happy old lady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I have a TON more written, I'm just trying to make sure the continuity flows before I post new chapters. I'm going to try to have less long breaks between chapters in the future.
> 
> This is also up on fictionpress if you're interested in reading there instead. It's under same username (poynter).
> 
> Honestly, I'm pumped you guys are enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it. Thanks for reading! :)


	6. Aisle 6: Celebrations

Back in school, I developed a crush on this purple-haired girl with three nose piercings. I don't know what I saw in her– maybe it was the short skirts she wore to the club– but I liked her before we'd even spoken to each other. I'd always see her out on Thursdays for EDM night, which piqued my interest. Nicknamed "Techno" by the rugby guys due to my aspiration to become an EDM artist, I figured I could bond with her over that mutual love.

On a particular Saturday night that came on the heels of a rough Friday night (and subsequent, puke-filled morning), I was too partied out to join my teammates at the bar. In spite of how worn I felt, they still tried to pressure me into rallying. "You're gonna get FOMO, man," warned Shortstop as he wiggled a shot of Burnett's in my face. "Fear of missing out!" He kept repeating this until the phrase was stuck in my head.

Eventually they pre-gamed too hard to care about me and left. I was content to smoke a bowl and masturbate furiously until Shortstop sent me a Snapchat of Bud's hips grinding against my purple-haired princess. The caption was simply, _FOMO_?

From then on, I was riddled with the curse of FOMO. Anxiety set in whenever someone had a shred of fun without me. I sat on my bed after work thinking about guacamole and _Archer_ and whether or not Vinny was at the apartment. Lynette's words rang in my head: _If you hadn't wussed out, you would've been hanging with us._ I made the split-second decision to go for it.

* * *

**YOU**

_Question_

* * *

**EZRA**

_answer_

* * *

**YOU**

_Why were you avoiding me at work?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_i wasn't avoiding you dude, i talked to you today_

* * *

**YOU**

_I mean earlier this week. I heard you running away from me whenever I got close to you. Just wanna know why_

* * *

**EZRA**

_didn't you already talk to nette about this_

* * *

**YOU**

_Nette?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_lynette. sorry. whenever her brother comes around i shorten her name on reflex cuz he does it_

* * *

**YOU**

_Oh okay. "Nette" said you were embarrassed_

* * *

**EZRA**

_there you go_

* * *

**YOU**

_...So you straight up ran away from me because you were embarrassed_

* * *

**EZRA**

_dude. come on. think about it_

* * *

**YOU**

_I am_

* * *

**EZRA**

_ok since you clearly need a breakdown... 1st of all: even though it was a prank it was a dumb thing to do. i never ever hook up at the bar and i was too drunk to realize how sloppy we were. 2nd: you are 20 and that makes me feel creepy. 3rd: i took you home. i shouldn't have to explain how weird that is._

* * *

**EZRA**

_so yeah. i felt really fuckin embarrassed and for a while i didn't even want to see your face. especially if you were gonna try to talk to me at work about it, which i hope to god you weren't gonna do_

* * *

**EZRA**

_so we can stop talking about it now?_

* * *

**YOU**

_Yeah sure_

* * *

**EZRA**

_great_

* * *

The conversation had the potential to end, but I didn't feel satisfied if the conclusion didn't involve an invitation to their apartment. _I called him out on his bullshit, didn't I? Lynette said that should have worked,_ I thought. Then it hit me. _Unless..._

* * *

**YOU**

_One more thing tho_

* * *

**EZRA**

_oh jesus christ_

* * *

**YOU**

_I know it wasn't a prank_

* * *

**EZRA**

_?_

* * *

**YOU**

_You dared Lynette to kiss me, didn't you?_

* * *

**EZRA**

...

* * *

**YOU**

_That means... yes?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_you bored?_

* * *

**YOU**

_Avoiding my question, huh_

* * *

It took him longer than usual to respond.

* * *

**EZRA**

_nah. you're right. i did dare her to kiss you. but i was also wondering if you wanna come watch archer with us_

* * *

Stunned, I stared at my phone, seriously wondering if Lynette was some kind of clairvoyant force.

* * *

**YOU**

_Sure_

* * *

**EZRA**

_what beer do you want?_

* * *

**YOU**

_Literally anything_

* * *

**EZRA**

_ok i'll grab you a sixer of "literally anything." see you soon_

* * *

It was easy to fall for Ezra because I didn't realize it was happening. The whole process was unconscious and rooted in emotions I thought were purely platonic. Turns out, when his drunk head found a resting place on my shoulder during our _Archer_ marathon, it wasn't my desire to solidify our friendship that made me run my fingers through his hair. Somehow, though, I convinced myself of that.

As I celebrated one month at Vita-Mart and began to count down the days until I could drive again, Home-Milo turned into more of a person than just a vehicle for work-sleep-masturbation. I got brave enough to revisit the songs I'd toiled over for a couple music production classes, as well as ones I'd done on my own time. The ones for class were low-key, synth-centric tunes; the EDM shit was explosive in all the wrong ways. Every so often after work, I'd feel inspired to tweak the tunes to perfection, realize I had no incentive to do so, and promptly ditch the idea. At the very least, it was a sign I was trying to branch out of my usual routine.

"You know how 'Ra has no friends here?" Lynette asked during one of our after-work coffee runs.

"Yeah."

"Wow, you agreed with that pretty quickly," she said.

"Does he have friends I don't know about?"

She thought about it for a second. "He may have befriended a homeless guy who panhandles by the Rock."

"Taking that as a no."

"You and I both know he doesn't like to be a 'social' guy," she snapped. "Anyway, like I was saying, he has no friends here. But he does have a couple buddies in Niagara Falls that are up for barhopping out there for his birthday next Friday. You should come along."

"I don't have a fake, Lynette."

"We could wing it."

"So I'm gonna be three hours away from home and roaming the streets all night 'cause I can't get past the bouncers."

"It'll be an adventure." She smiled dreamily. I gave her an unamused look and sipped the espresso drink she'd ordered for me. "Well, if an ID magically falls from the sky before next weekend, or if you decide to take a fuckin' risk for once in your life, you're welcome to come."

"Alright."

"It's a surprise for 'Ra, by the way, so hush hush. Ever since we became friends in high school, I've tried to surprise him on his birthday."

"So by now he's expecting the surprises?"

"After ten years? Naturally," Lynette said proudly. "Oh, and Millie's going with us, too! If you come, you can finally hang out with her!" Lynette had recently scored with Millicent the Amazonian Princess, and she was working on solidifying something deeper than a texting-only flirtationship. "You _have_ to go, man, I'm commanding you."

"I'll really try to find an ID, okay? But if I don't–"

"Then 'Ra's birthday will be ruined. No big."

I rolled my eyes. "That's my master fucking plan. How old is he gonna be, anyway?"

Lynette raised an eyebrow. "How old do you think?"

"Somewhere in the late-fifties, early-sixties range," I joked.

"So close," she said. "Twenty-fuckin'-seven. Which reminds me, wanna go halfsies on a shitton of white lighters as a semi-useful gag gift?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm up for causing his untimely death."

She smirked. "That's the spirit."

•

"Do you even do anything at work except drool over that hot cashier? 'Cause I wouldn't," said Stitches.

"It's hard not to stare." I tried to sound convincing.

"When are you gonna bring her out here, Techno?" asked Shortstop. "You can use Dumpster's bed to fuck, as long as you set up a camera first."

"Hey!" Dumpster cried.

Video chatting with the team had begun to feel like a chore. It was hard to connect with them when all they wanted to talk about was whether or not I'd buried my head between Lynette's tits.

However, that day I had a (sneaky, underhanded) mission: secure an ID and escape extreme FOMO. "Dumpster, how's my old ID working out for you?" I innocently asked, hoping that was ambiguous enough to open a discussion of _by the way I need it_.

"Yeah, how _is_ it working out?" Stitches said through his teeth, thumping Dumpster's back with his palm.

Dumpster rolled his eyes. "Uh, remember that show we told you we were gonna go to? The one in Poughkeepsie?"

"The metal show?"

"That one," he said, then paused. Shortstop snickered. "I tried to get an over-twenty-one wristband there, and the bouncer confiscated my ID."

"Why?"

"He quizzed me on the zip code and I got it wrong."

"Oh," I muttered, crestfallen. "That sucks."

"For real."

"Next thing you know, Dumpster'll get rucked so hard, his ankle gives out," joked Stitches. He was referencing, with little grace, an injury that had put me out of commission at the end of my last season at school. It was a popular wisecrack with the guys, much to my dismay.

"Har har," I said humorlessly.

"How's your delicate ankle doing, anyway?"

"It's fine, until the temperature drops." There was a silence. "Well, I gotta go."

"Tell hot girl we say hi," said Shortstop.

"I will." I wouldn't.

•

Though I'd given up on approaching Ezra at work, eventually I worked up the courage to wave when he passed by. In response, he smiled and adjusted his earbuds, then pointed at my lane.

My head jerked up to face the customer in front of me, remnants of a grin on my lips. She looked like she'd been waiting for me to notice her presence. "Oh, geeze, zoned out there– bags or boxes?"

The girl giggled. "Bags, please."

I'd seen her at the Mart semi-regularly. She was around my age, short, and wide-eyed. She never got much, some fruit and tea at most, but she'd always bypass the other open registers and come straight for me. The way she looked into my eyes when she handed me her credit card was all too familiar. It was one of the only signs that never flew under my radar: the coveted sign of Please Undress Me Right Here And Now, Thanks.

"Sorry about the wait. Credit card reader's been taking its sweet time today." I impatiently tapped my fingers on the machine.

"Don't worry about it."

There was an enduring pause. I could hear Lynette smacking her gum in the background. "So... got any plans for the weekend?" I asked, attempting to make small talk to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"Nope," she said quickly. "I mean, I do, but they're dumb plans."

"Dumb plans? Like, as opposed to smart plans?"

She laughed. "Yepp, that's it. Not-smart plans. Plans that can be cancelled at any moment." Lynette loudly popped a gum bubble.

"Well, those do sound like dumb plans."

"What about you? Any plans?"

"Getting drunk," I said, putting professionalism aside for the moment. Fortunately, she seemed amused by my honesty. Or possibly by her desire to make out with me. "That's always a good time," she said.

"Yeah, until the morning after." At long last, the machine spat out the short receipt. I handed it to her, along with a pen for signing.

After she hurried out of the store, Lynette spoke up. "She totally wrote her number on that receipt, dude."

I squinted at the scrap of paper. Seven digits stared back. "Aw, shit."

"What? She's cute," said Lynette. "Thirsty, but cute."

"In a weird way, I guess. But now I'm gonna feel bad if I don't, like, ask her out after that small talk about the weekend and shit..."

"She sure cornered you."

I groaned and looked at the receipt. "Give me plans so I can not text this girl– 'Sonja Rapp'– and feel okay about it."

"Rock Bottom is always the weekend plan, my friend– oh, mother-of-fuck!"

"What?"

Lynette motioned for me to get closer. "That kid by the coolers on the side, he's been in here a couple times trying to buy beer. Chalked his ID so the 1999 birthdate almost looks like 1991. Really shitty attempt, but can't say he didn't try."

"So what do I do if I have to cash him out?"

"Don't sell him the beer."

"That's so uncomfortable. I know what it's like to be in his position," I whined.

"We all do," she shot back. "Suck it up."

I peered over at the young-looking blond kid. He was idling in front of our small selection of gluten-free beer. Even I knew you had to be some kind of desperate to try to get away with buying alcohol at a place like Vita-Mart. I guess he could've had a life-threatening gluten allergy but didn't let it get in the way of his partier lifestyle.

He spent a good amount of time staring blankly at the beer before picking up a six-pack of O-Mission and heading for my lane.

"Just gotta check your ID." I hated every word as it left my mouth. _The irony is killing me_ , I thought as he nervously shuffled through his pocket.

To my surprise, he handed me an un-chalked, over twenty-one ID from New Jersey. Back at school, my ID had been a legitimate one passed down from a rugby vet who hailed from Holmdel. Using that knowledge, I studied the kid's ID for a while, but found no glaring inaccuracies.

I was just about to hand it back to him, admittedly impressed with the kid's good-ass fake, but I took one more glance at the picture. His hair was only slightly longer than mine. Our heights were nearly identical. Not to mention our eerily similar smiles.

"This is fake," I declared.

"No, it's not, this is my license."

_Yeah, sure, Mr. 1999._ "Alright, what's your zip code?"

The kid's eyes grew wide. "Zero, seven, uh, seven... nine, one." I shook my head. "Wait, I didn't mean one, I meant four."

"Still no." I hesitated for a split second, then placed the ID on my register. The kid gazed at it in distress. When he looked up at me, I stared him straight in the eyes, daring him to question my authority. Sheepishly, he stuck his hands in his pockets and left without another word.

"That was so awkward, I couldn't even look," mumbled Lynette. "What happened? Did he cry?"

"Nah, but I might."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm just so _sorry_ for his loss, y'know?" I held up the ID and smirked. "But I'm happier for my gain."

Lynette gasped. "I bet you're glad you cashed him out now," she commented. "Take that shit. And if anyone asks, I saw nothing."

"You're my favorite manager in the world," I sighed, slipping it into my pocket.

•

When you're twenty in America, the ability to buy alcohol is everything to you. I realize that's a huge generalization, but I have yet to be proven wrong, so I'm calling it a fact. Teetering on the cusp of the legal drinking age makes you feel entitled to all twenty-one-year-old benefits, even though your birth certificate indicates otherwise. It's just plain cruel to have to wait any longer to do what you've been doing since high school without the risk of a court date.

That being said, my twenty-year-old ass flew out of work that day with a twinkle in my eye, which was incidentally set on the nearest liquor store. I walked out with bottles of Svedka, boxes of Franzia, and a bushel of shots. I nearly dropped my entire paycheck on the load. It felt fucking glorious.

Ezra was impressed by my ID at Rock Bottom that weekend. "You're growing up," he commended me. Then he told me to get his beers for the rest of the night. Which I did, but only because it was the first time I'd been able to do so.

I'd started working on an additional birthday "present" for Ezra, which was more like an exercise I'd been doing for myself that I figured could work as a gift. It started as a joke– I threw EDM beats under the vocals of Blink-182's _What's My Age Again?_ on a drunken whim _–_ but with a little tweaking, it didn't sound too bad. I perfected it throughout the week, usually while I guzzled alcohol in my room after my parents had gone to bed.

After work on Friday, Lynette and I decorated the apartment while Ezra napped. We blew up balloons, draped streamers in the doorways, and taped pieces of computer paper to the wall as a makeshift banner with the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOTHERFUCKER written on it in sloppy block letters. When he emerged from his room with a yawn, I thrust a beer in his hand and Lynette gave him a kiss on the cheek. He only started smiling and thanking us after his first beer was empty.

"Aw, my invitation to the twenty-seven club," said Ezra as he tore open the box of lighters we'd ordered from some Russian wholesale website. "Jesus Christ, there's a lot in here. How badly do you want me to die?"

"Six and a half out of ten," said Lynette. She then handed Ezra a hastily-wrapped package. "This is from me, so don't give Lo-Lo any credit."

It was a leather-bound journal with a brass locking mechanism secured to the cover. The pages were thick and textured.

"It's one of those notebooks with the pages that never fall out," she said. "I know you like them or whatever, and you told me you filled up your last one recently..."

"Shit, this is really nice," Ezra breathed, running his hand over the lock. "Thank you, Lynette."

"So this means you're gonna write me another poem, right?" There was an unfamiliar, tentative quality to her voice.

He smiled. "Yeah, sure. Actually, I had an idea for something the other day, it's just a matter of getting it on paper."

"Well, there's plenty of paper right there," Lynette pointed out. "I'm glad you like it, 'Ra." Ezra hugged her tightly.

"Okay, my gift is nowhere as good as that, but I also don't have years of friendship to draw inspiration from, so..." I plugged my phone into the speakers.

Ezra squinted at me. "You didn't write a song, did you?"

"Did you want me to?"

"No."

"Good, 'cause I didn't." I pressed play.

At first, Lynette and Ezra laughed hysterically. "You mixed this?" asked Ezra. I nodded and he shook his head, grinning.

As the song went on though, Lynette started bobbing her head and Ezra tapped out the beat on his leg. "What the fuck," Lynette said once it was over. "That was _awesome_. Like, it was a funny mash-up, but it sounded straight-up professional. I didn't know you could do that shit."

"I took a few music production classes back in the day," I said, dusting off my shoulders. "People at school knew me as 'DJ HighLo,' amateur EDM artist."

"That explains so much about you," quipped Ezra. "Thanks, man. I mean, _DJ HighLo_." He fist-bumped me. I think I heard Lynette laugh through her nose. "Alright, what's the surprise this year?"

Lynette smirked. "Get on big boy clothes and pack your bags, 'Ra. We're going to Niagara Falls for a night of birthday-related revelry with your school crew."

"I knew it!" he cried. "You kept talking about the Falls all week. You're so fuckin' transparent."

"I dropped hints on purpose! I wanted to see if you'd guess it this year. Now get moving, Millie's gonna be here in half an hour– oh, right, secondary surprise, Millie's coming. We need to take your car since mine's too full of shit to fit four people."

"You're gonna make him drive? On his _birthday_?" I asked.

Lynette folded her arms. "What, do you wanna drive?"

Ezra snorted. I glared at him. He took a long sip of beer. "My license is currently suspended."

"What'd you do?"

"DWI."

"Makes sense. 'Ra would be getting one of those tonight if we weren't staying out there." She kicked at his ankles. "Go get ready, birthday boy."

Millie was stunningly beautiful, with chiseled cheekbones and incredible posture. She was quiet but sweet, and brought Ezra a bottle of wine even though she'd only met him once. Lynette was smitten. She hovered around Millie with glimmering eyes and the corners of her lips permanently upturned. I don't think I'd ever seen her smile so much.

The girls sat in the backseat, not quite cuddling but letting their fingers graze each other's legs every so often. I was sent to the front seat of Ezra's relatively new, gray, Toyota something-or-other. He pushed the driver's seat far back and loosely gripped the stick shift. "Try not to get too jealous. You know, since I can drive and you can't," he jested.

"I'll refrain from wrestling you for the wheel," I assured him.

"Thanks." He looked at the backseat. "You two better behave. The only person who gets to fuck in my car is me."

Lynette made a face. "Just you? Not you and another person? Ew, you're a highway wanker," she said. Millie giggled.

"The correct term is 'highwanker,'" said Ezra, then started the car. As he pulled off the curb, he rummaged through the center console, then tossed an iPod in my lap. "All yours."

I stared at it blankly. "You really trust me to pick songs?"

"Close your eyes and press play for all I care. Everything on there is guaranteed gold."

I played it safe and hit shuffle. He was right. I barely recognized anything, but I wrote down the names of the songs I liked most.

The ride had a certain sense of ease to it. Ezra and I smoked cigarettes in the front, and in the back, Millie laughed at everything that came out of Lynette's mouth. Ezra and I didn't talk much. He seemed content in his silence, and every so often he'd chime in with a comment about the song or where we were on the road.

As we approached our exit, he pointed to a billboard for a nearby college. "My alma mater," he said, then added, "so to speak."

"You went to school around here?" I asked. He nodded.

"That's why he's got friends in the Falls, dummy," Lynette piped up. "By the way, 'Ra, you wanna know who's coming tonight?"

"I assumed the usual crew," he said. "Kaya, Clyde, Henri, and Eitan?"

"Henri can't make it, I think it's his anniversary. But other than that, yeah."

"He never stays out late anyway. Did you see if it was okay for all of us to sleep at Kaya and Clyde's?"

Lynette hunched over and popped a small gum bubble. "Well, about that," she began. "I didn't want to squeeze four people in their living room, so I already booked a hotel room for Millie and I."

Ezra raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Millie giggled nervously.

•

His friends looked almost nothing like I'd pictured them. Kaya sported ironically huge glasses and bright red lipstick. Bearded Clyde hung around her, wearing similar-size glasses and a pastel button-up. Tall, beer-gut-brandishing Eitan looked radically different from the couple, cheerily modeling a slouchy shirt with some video game-related joke on it.

"The prodigal son returns!" exclaimed Eitan as we entered the bar where they'd been waiting for us.

"Did Lynette actually surprise you this year?" Kaya asked snobbishly. "I assume not." Lynette glared.

Clyde introduced himself with a quick handshake, claiming to be Ezra's freshman year roommate. Kaya proudly announced she'd been Clyde's "ball-and-chain, fact-checker, and verbal proofreader" since they were eighteen. Eitan launched into a hilarious anecdote about how he and Ezra met when they tried– and failed– to join their school's Jewish fraternity.

Clyde bought a round of shots immediately following introductions. "Working an office job might be soul-sucking, but the pay makes the weekends worth it," he said when I thanked him. "To Ezra, and his twenty-seventh year of life on this godforsaken, wasteland-of-a-planet!" I saw Lynette roll her eyes as we toasted.

Another round of shots was purchased by Kaya, then Eitan, then I found myself cruising on the outskirts of some conversation about an author I'd never heard of. Ezra grew much more talkative, fervently stating his feelings on whatever the hell they were saying– about fifty percent of their sentences made logical sense to me– and pounding his beer between sentences. Lynette and Millie stayed out of the conversation, if only because they were absorbed in their own whispers/giggle fits.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours of reading the same sentence on my beer label in an attempt to seem too busy to talk, Ezra went to the bathroom and the conversation paused. Eitan looked over his shoulder to see me stabbing drops of condensation on the bottle with my fingernail. "Shit, dude!" he blurted out. "My bad, Milo. We totally left you out." He made room for me to scoot my bar stool into their lineup.

Kaya sighed. "Oh, come on. A youth like him doesn't want to hang out with us old folks."

Eitan looked at me, surprised. "Whoa, wait. Are you still in school?"

I swallowed hard. "Well, yes and no. I'm taking the semester off."

"Good for you. Fuck, _great_ for you. Wish I would've given myself a break," said Kaya before taking a sip from her drink.

"It was definitely necessary." _In more ways than one_ , I thought.

"What've you been majoring in?" asked Clyde.

The dreaded question had reared its ugly head. "God, what _haven't_ I majored in would be an easier question." They all laughed. "I started out studying mechanical engineering."

Clyde scoffed. "Engineering? That's one way to sell yourself to the pressures of society."

"I take it that didn't end well," said Kaya.

"Hell no. It was boring as shit. Couldn't keep myself awake in class, no matter how much coffee and Adderall I shoved down my throat."

"Been there," Eitan commiserated. "So did you switch majors?"

I nodded. "To marketing. It's a weird change, I know, but it made sense in my head... just like most of my terrible decisions." Eitan gave me a high five in agreement. "Anyway, right before I got in... er, I left school, marketing wasn't working out either. I was about to change majors, but then I, uh, decided to take a break from school altogether."

"I see," Clyde said. "Do you know what you're going to major in next?"

I shook my head. "Got any suggestions?"

"More like a caveat," he began, placing his glass of whiskey on the bar. "Do not– for the love of God– do not major in English."

Eitan pointed at Clyde. "I'm on his side."

"Oh, shut up, you guys. Just because you two can't find a job in the field doesn't mean we _all_ can't," protested Kaya.

"You were all English majors?" I asked. "Even Ezra?"

"God, he was the worst of us all," Clyde groaned. "An English major with a concentration in Creative Writing. Talk about a dead-end education."

" _Clyde_ ," hissed Kaya, giving him a death glare.

"Come on, Kay. He's said it himself."

"I didn't know he wrote," I murmured.

"He was awesome at it!" Eitan said excitedly. "He wrote me this crazy story about what I'd be like as an astronaut. I died when a rogue comet flattened me like a pancake. It was crazy cool."

Kaya nodded. "Ezra's talented. Too bad he threw his chances away when he–" She gasped. "Oh my God! We haven't pulled our usual stunt yet!"

"Shit, you're right!" Eitan cried. "Grab his phone! Quick!"

I looked on, puzzled, as Kaya searched for _Ezra Holstein_ on his phone's web browser.

"Go, go, go," Eitan urged her. "Clyde, you're on look out!"

Clyde squinted toward the bathrooms. "We're good for now. Hurry though."

"Tell the internet to hurry, it's being a little– oh, here we go! Here we go," Kaya said with a devilish grin on her face.

Row after row of images loaded, mostly displaying the same picture in different sizes. It was Ezra, albeit young, but still undeniably Ezra. He was mussy-haired, generally unkempt, and posing for a mugshot with an unflinchingly satisfied smirk on his face.

"Holy shit," I murmured. "He looks like a mass murderer."

"Probably on purpose," Eitan surmised.

Kaya saved one of the pictures to Ezra's phone and set it as his wallpaper. "He's coming!" muttered Clyde, swiveling around on his stool.

Ezra returned to his seat and instantly checked his phone. "Figured," he said, chuckling at the picture. "You guys have always been terrible at pranking me with this fuckin' mugshot."

"Aw, but Milo hadn't seen it yet. It was only appropriate," Kaya explained.

Ezra studied the picture. "God, I got old. Look at that baby face."

"Look at that serial killer smirk," I commented. Everyone laughed.

Ezra glanced at me, stunned but smiling. "You'd have the same look on your face if you were me."

I started to ask for clarification, but Eitan cut me off. "Man, I can't believe that was seven years ago," he said with a hint of wistfulness.

"Scary how grown-up we felt. We were just children," Kaya pointed out.

They launched into a conversation about the old days, effectively casting me to the wayside once again. I watched for a bit as Ezra struggled to get a word in, looking more gaunt than cheery about their college years.

Thankfully, Lynette pulled me aside a few minutes into my isolation. "Do coke with us."

"What? I mean, I'll definitely take you up on that offer, but when did you get–"

"Millie brought it because she's perfect. Come to the girls' bathroom, I'll sneak you in."

"Are you going to ask Ezra to join?"

She shook her head. "He prefers to binge on one drug at a time. Besides, he's talking about his glory years with those pinheads."

"Hey, they're not bad." I thought about it for a second. "Eitan's cool."

"You don't have to pretend. They're pretentious as shit."

"Geeze, retract your claws, Lynette. If you hate them so much, why'd you plan this trip?"

She glanced over at Millie, who was rifling through her purse while she waited by the bathrooms. "For 'Ra," she said slowly.

"Really? Not for your 'Amazonian Princess' over there?" I asked.

"Am I really that easy to read?" she grumbled. "I want her to know I care. That I'm not just some random bitch she hooked up with at the bar."

"And fucking her in a hotel room will show her that."

"Fucking her _for the first time_ in a hotel room _overlooking a huge goddamn waterfall_ will show her that," she corrected me, obviously having thought this through.

"Damn, you're right." She nodded enthusiastically. "So this trip is as much about Ezra as it is about you."

"Oh, definitely. Plus I thought he should see his friends while he actually has the desire to do things." I gave her a puzzled look. "Come on, it's not obvious that he was a boring sack of shit before you came along?"

"Not really."

"It's true. Well, he was way cooler in high school. Artsy, social, well-liked– he was runner-up for prom king, if you can believe it," she recounted with a giggle. "When we started living together, he was less energetic, but still alright. We used to watch shows together, make huge dinners, decorate the apartment for holidays... domestic shit like that. But eventually he stopped doing things, and just stayed in his room all day after work. He hasn't seen his friends from here in like, a year. He hasn't felt like it. But ever since you've come around, he's started to get fun again." She smirked. "Can't imagine why..."

I peered over at Ezra. He was laughing at something Eitan was saying. "It can't just be because of me," I said quietly.

"Oh, it is," confirmed Lynette. "He won't admit it, though. He hates having crushes. Anyway, let's go to the bathroom."

"Yeah," I murmured, eyes still stuck on Ezra. I paused, realized what she'd said, then nearly got whiplash when I turned to give her a terrified look. "Wait, _what_?"

"Let's go."

"No, before that."

She sighed heavily and massaged her forehead with her fingers. "There is a hot girl waiting to do expensive drugs with us _for free_. I already wasted enough time monologuing about the past and I don't have time to entertain any more ridiculous questions about things that are _very_ plain to see. Now, come do some fucking coke."


	7. Aisle 7: Answers

Lynette was one of those people who does a line and immediately starts bouncing around like a pinball. This made our exploits immediately apparent to Ezra, who grinned when Lynette started grinding on a bar stool while simultaneously chugging Ezra's beer. "Have fun with that tonight," he muttered to Millie.

I'd only done a couple bumps of coke and had few issues keeping it together– I felt more drunk than wired– until we headed to the next bar. The new place had a more youthful, in-your-face atmosphere, blasting club music and lighting a dance floor with bright, purple and green lights. It reminded me of the bars where I'd look for potential hook-ups back at school.

The Falls crew gathered us at a round table in the back for something they called "The Question Game." It was a tricky little diversion I'd played a few times at parties in high school, usually as a warm-up to Spin The Bottle. The basis: the person you're sitting beside whispers a question to you, you answer loud enough for the whole table to hear it, then flip a coin. If tails, the game moves to the next person, everyone else drinks, and no one can inquire about what you were asked. If heads, you have to drink and reveal the question to the entire table. It's a game that gets too real too fast.

I sat at Ezra's right, and Lynette sat beside me. Though I was relieved to be next to the two people I knew the best, I also didn't trust them to go easy on me with their questions.

"I feel as though everyone's intoxicated enough to be thoroughly honest," Clyde concluded, revealing a quarter in the palm of his hand. "Ezra, as it is your special day, I'll bestow upon you the honor of asking the first question." I felt slighted when he leaned to his left and whispered to Eitan instead of me.

As Eitan's cheeks reddened, he shouted, "Lynette!" When the coin landed on heads, he buried his face in his palms. The table erupted into cheers.

"Come on, it's not that bad," said Ezra.

"What was it?" Lynette demanded, eyes wide.

Eitan drank from his beer before speaking. "He asked, 'if you had to bang one person at the table, who would it be?'"

" _Oooh,_ such a sweetheart!" Lynette squealed, then jumped up from her seat to kiss the top of his head. Millie and I couldn't stop laughing.

When the game made its way to my side of the table, Lynette's question was whether or not I wanted a bump after the round ended. I stared at her skeptically. "That's really what you're asking?"

"Duh. Answer it, dipwad."

I sighed. "Sure." The coin landed on tails. Not like it mattered.

While I pondered a question for Ezra, he rolled his eyes. "Milo should be excused from asking me anything. We already played twenty questions together."

Lynette cackled. As the others made sarcastic comments, I leaned toward Ezra, shielding my lips from sight with my hand. "When did you have the best sex of your life, and why was it the best?"

He scrunched up his face. "Two years ago," he said slowly. "Because I'd been waiting for years to do it with that person."

"Years," I repeated.

"Years," he affirmed, then flipped the coin. It landed on tails. He seemed relieved.

The round continued in reverse order, which meant Ezra was poised to ask me the next question. He took a sip from his drink and stared at me until I met his gaze. "What?" I asked, suddenly paranoid I was doing something weird.

"I'm trying to figure out the best way to incriminate you."

"Fun."

The slow, seductive way he leaned in made me think he was going to suck on my neck. I rubbed my goosebumps as he spoke. "Name the person to your left and the best thing about the last time you had sex."

I snorted, unable to see how that was particularly "incriminating" until the words came out of my mouth. "Ezra. We did it in a huge mirror."

Everyone's shocked expressions made me re-evaluate what I'd said. _Oh, shit,_ I thought in a panic, praying to get heads on the coin toss. The quarter landed on tails, probably just to spite me.

The table was hushed for a moment. "Well, considering they're sleeping in my living room, I'm concerned," muttered Kaya.

"No, no, wait! It wasn't anything bad!" I protested as my cheeks burned.

Ezra sniggered relentlessly. I glared. "Oh man," he said between laughs. "I can't believe that actually worked." I was so embarrassed, I mumbled a throwaway question to jittery Lynette, who seemed to care very little about the game and much more concerned about when we could do coke.

A devious look appeared on Eitan's face as the game came back around to him. He said something under his breath, obviously meant for only Ezra to hear. Nerves seized me as I caught the end of the sentence: "...payback for what you asked."

That's why, when I saw Ezra's face fall as Eitan whispered to him, I wasn't shocked when his answer was a watery-voiced, "Milo." I didn't even need the coin to land on heads to know the original question. Ezra said it anyway, vocalized in a small voice, echoing a question we'd already heard at the very beginning of the game.

A momentary hush fell over the table. "No _shit_ , right?" Lynette blurted out, then leapt up from the table and made a beeline for the bathroom. I followed her without looking back.

"God, that was fucking awful," I groaned, leaning against the wall of the bathroom in torment.

Lynette was hopping from one foot to the other. "No, no, it totally wasn't. Mills, it wasn't bad, was it?"

It took Millie a second to register Lynette's new nickname for her. "It was kind of, uhm, awkward," she said. She sat on the toilet and put her purse on her lap, prepared to divvy up more lines. "Hey, Milo, how much do you want?"

Pain shot through my bad ankle. I flinched and knelt down to rub it. "After that fiasco, I need an eight-ball to the face. First Ezra tricks me into answering that question so it sounds bad, then..."

"Fiasco!" cried Lynette. "Shut your damn mouth! That was like, a wet dream for 'Ra. Let him have his birthday fun, okay? Let him pretend you guys are... I don't know, more than you are." She wiggled her fingers in my face. I batted her away. "Also, what the fuck is wrong with your ankle?"

"Old rugby injury," I explained, realizing I was still kneading my skin. "Anyway, that whole ordeal was uncomfortable around all his friends. Like, they probably think that we–"

"Did you and Ezra have sex or something?"

I whipped around to look at Millie, who had assumed post-snort pose. "See?" I said to Lynette. "Everyone's gonna think we're fucking. To answer your question, Millie: no."

"Oh." She sounded surprised.

Lynette rolled her eyes. "Is it really the end of the world? Are you _that_ afraid of not seeming one-hundred-plus-a-billion percent straight in front of people you'll probably never see again?"

"No, it's just..."

"It's just what? I'm all ears." She bent down, did a line, then stared into my soul as she dabbed at her nose.

I knew she was right; there was no point in getting worked up about something so trivial. Truth be told, my flared emotions stemmed from the last question that Ezra answered, but I wasn't sure how to express that. It was tough to deal with the fact that I'd no longer be able to look him in the eyes and pretend I was unaware of how he felt about me.

When we returned from our excursion, the group had lessened by two people. "Clyde and Kaya went home," explained Eitan. "They said they were tired." Ezra, I noticed, was pouting.

Lynette put her hands on her hips. "Well, fuck them! We bouta party _all fucking night_ , 'cause 'Ra's only twenty-seven once!" Triumphantly, she held up her hand for a high-five from no one in particular. Millie was the first to concede. "What are we doing next, huh? Moving on to another bar? This place is beat, am I right– oh _fuck,_ they're playing my _shit_!"

As she clambered onto her chair to dance/wiggle violently to some remixed punk song, Ezra pulled me aside. I expected an expression of his embarrassment, maybe an admission of his feelings, something that would make my throat tight and my words shaky, but he careened in a different direction. "Wanna know what's fucked up?" His annunciation was slightly muddled.

"Lynette's attempt at dancing sexy?" I looked down at the table and saw empty glasses. He and Eitan had done shots while we were in the bathroom.

"I think Kaya and Clyde left 'cause they thought you and I are, like, friends with benefits or some bullshit," he told me. I scratched a non-existent itch on my arm. "They get mad uncomfortable whenever they hear someone's just hooking up and not like, gonna be together forever. It's fuckin' stupid! Probably 'cause their relationship's a shit-show." He looked me up and down, then met my twitching gaze. "How's Millie's shit?"

"Millie's what? Her... her what?" I asked words coming faster than thoughts. Then it clicked. "Oh, shit, yeah, her coke's alright. But it's nothing like this one time, when I had this crazy stuff my friend from Paraguay scored, because that was... fuck, man, that was..." I stopped mid-sentence as Ezra grinned– maybe at how fast I was talking, maybe at the words coming out my mouth, maybe at me in general. "Wait, Kaya and Clyde are assholes?"

"Always have been, always will be."

"Then dude, I agree with Lynette!" I exclaimed, motioning to his gyrating roommate, who was trying to get Millie to jump up on the small, lopsided chair. "Fuck them! We don't need to sleep at their place. Especially on your birthday."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! We can crash in Lynette and Millie's hotel room!" Ezra's face puckered. "Right, maybe not, Lynette would probably have sex while we're in the room..."

"I know for a fact she's done it before," he told me.

I snorted. "No fucking way! When?"

"I'll tell you later," he promised. "Wanna get our own room wherever they're staying?" Without overthinking it, I nodded.

We were honestly planning to ask which hotel they were staying at, follow them back, get a room, and be good kids– but a song came on that Ezra hated so he _had_ to take a shot to make it better, then a solid remix of my favorite song from senior year started playing, then Lynette and Millie were busy sticking their tongues down each other's throats, then Eitan told the DJ it was Ezra's birthday and he played the timeless classic _Birthday Sex_ , then we couldn't find the girls anywhere.

We went outside to call Lynette, but there was no answer. Instead of worrying, we lit up cigarettes and laughed about how she had to stand on her tiptoes to make out with Millie. Eventually, a text came through from Lynette that confirmed the girls had left to attend to their burning desires, so Ezra, Eitan, and I headed to a dive bar.

The two of them monopolized the jukebox with selections that flew over the heads of the older crowd, and sounded nothing like any songs I'd ever heard. I wrote every song that played in my phone, adding my own personal notes to each one: _I've Got Friends by Manchester Orchestra: makes me wanna cry and punch someone. Bad Medicine by FIDLAR: makes me wanna get drunk and do heroin._

Eitan didn't seem to agree with Ezra's theory about Kaya and Clyde. "They're a little weird about hook-ups, I guess," he admitted while Ezra was adding another song to the jukebox. He must have spent at least ten dollars at that point. "I think they were genuinely tired, that's all. Not sure why Ezra would've told you that. Hey, how'd you like his mugshot? Classic, right?"

I nodded. "Before tonight, I had a mugshot-shaped hole in my heart. Thank you for filling it." I peered over at Ezra, who was contemplating which song to choose as though the decision had the ability to change his life. "Were you, y'know, around for that?"

"What, the party where he got arrested?" I nodded. "Oh man, it was a shit-show."

"Shit-shows are my favorite. What happened?"

"Well, I guess it started when we heard about how the drama kids always drank in the theatre at school," Eitan explained. "Ezra got this idea in his head that he could do the same thing in the freakin' multi-purpose room in the student union. So he amassed a _shit-load_ of kids– I don't know why or how– and got the keys from some dopey professor who trusted Ezra a little too much."

"That's a mistake."

Eitan laughed. "Yeah, right? Anyway, everything was actually going alright until a few people showed up who, I guess, Ezra had beef with... though honestly, I'd never heard of him having enemies back in the day. It was weird. He kept telling me, 'if shit blows up, call the cops and run,' which of course, I didn't do because I wasn't about to get my buddy in trouble.

"All of a sudden he was screaming at some dude, I didn't even hear what he was saying, and then they were just wailing on each other, throwing shit, destroying school property– it was nuts! I would have jumped in there except for the fact that I had no freakin' idea what was going on, y'get me?

"I guess someone called the cops– I think it was just someone passing by, a janitor probably– and everyone ran like hell. Except Ezra. When I was getting the fuck out of there, I saw him standing in the middle of the room, just kind of waiting there." He smirked. "Such a badass. Oh, hey, I think he finally decided on more music."

Ezra marched over, purpose in his steps. He grabbed my hand and brought me to an empty corner of the bar so I could hear a song. "It's a classic by Elliott Smith, the king of misery," he told me. The music was barely audible over the general hubbub of the bar.

I frowned. "It's too quiet."

"That's the point... oh, you mean you can't hear it? Shit!" I looked on in confusion as he moved a chair against a wall. "There's a speaker in this corner," he said, pointing to its location near the ceiling. "Stand on the chair, you can hear better– go, go! It's a short song, every second counts!"

Rapidly, I climbed onto the chair and leaned toward the speaker. "This better be worth it," I called down to Ezra. He pressed an index finger against his lips and pointed to his ears.

The song was sparse, boasting only acoustic guitar and vocals. The breathy, haunting lyrics entered my ears like a whispered sentiment meant only for me. My eyes closed, lulled shut by the tantalizing tune. The melody carried my hazy mind away, an ethereal sensation riding on the end of the singer's delicate syllables.

"Worth it?" Ezra asked as the song ended.

"Wow."

He smiled. "You look like an idiot standing up there, just so you know."

I put my hands on my hips. "Joke's on you! I don't only _look_ like an idiot, I _am_ one."

He extended a hand to help me off the chair. I jumped down instead, numb to the sting from absorbing the impact in my shins. Ezra raised an eyebrow as I threw my hands in the air triumphantly. "Clearly," he said.

The night was cut short after Ezra challenged Eitan to a chugging contest and Eitan nearly puked on the mini-skirted bartender. We pulled him into a cab– Ezra recited the address to the driver while Eitan spit up some beer on the curb– and talked him through each sharp turn. "Just guide me to my door," Eitan told us. "My roommates will take care of the rest."

Eitan whispered something to Ezra when he hugged him goodbye, and Ezra laughed nervously in response. "I'm working on it," Ezra told him.

Then he hugged me goodbye, too. "You're the coolest."

"You too, man."

"For real," he assured me. "Thanks for being Ezra's friend. He needs you."

"No kidding," is all I could manage.

We climbed back into the taxi. The driver had entertained himself by sucking on a one-hitter while we were helping Eitan inside. "Where to?" he asked, masking a cough.

Ezra stared at me blankly, and I returned the look, unable to remember what we'd agreed on. "I'm not tired yet," he said.

"Me either," I replied.

He shrugged, then I shrugged, then a smile materialized, like he'd gotten permission to do whatever the hell he pleased. "You know what," he began, turning his eyes to the front of the cab. "Can you just take us to the falls?"

"The falls?" asked the driver. "Y'mean the entrance? Where the visitors go?"

"Yeah, take us there."

"You know it ain't open this time of night, yeah? The observation decks, the... the gift shop, all closed–"

"I'm not a tourist," Ezra stated coldly. The driver promptly threw the cab into drive and peeled away from the curb. I snickered, and Ezra tried to shush me by squeezing my thigh. When I strained my ear to hear the noise beneath the light hits radio station, I heard him laughing right along with me.

As the cab driver had said, the higher observation decks were closed, but we could still walk to the lower rail and gaze at the water pouring over what seemed like the highest precipice of Earth.

An enthusiastic Ezra showed me how much more beautiful Niagara Falls was when it wasn't packed with fair-weather tourists in the afternoon. He coaxed me over a railing, down a slope of rocks, and onto the land between the main path and the rapids. Then he handed me a flask of something vile-smelling and worse-tasting.

He pointed across the gushing water to some trees in the distance. "That's where my friends and I used to smoke weed when we were in school. We thought we were badasses," he told me over the tremendous roar of the waterfall. I could tell he was drunk by the way his pitch modulated, breaking the monotone of his sober-to-buzzed intoxication range.

"You wanna swim over there?" I asked, jokingly tiptoe-ing to the edge. "When it rained, I used to have to do a billion fucking laps in the pool for rugby practice. I only almost drowned, like, five times. Fuck, let's go, man."

He took his place beside me and stared where his toes met the slope of the land. "You first."

"'Kay, watch me." The harsh wind kept sweeping strands of hair into my eyes, making my cheeks twitch. I felt antsy, too antsy for silence, no matter how comfortable it was. "You know _Garden State_?" I asked, pulling at my sleeves.

Ezra looked over at me. "The movie? With the guy from _Scrubs_?"

"Yeah. You know the part where they–"

"Where they scream their lungs out over that huge pit?"

I clapped my hands together. "Yeah! This place makes me wanna–"

"Done it."

My face fell. "Done it once, can't do it again?"

"Nah, man," he said. "Can't risk being cliche."

"When'd you do it?"

He took a sip from the flask and shook his head. "You know, I feel like half the time we're together, we're just asking each other questions."

"I think that's kind of how you make friends."

"We're already friends. Can we at least establish that?" he pleaded. "You're three hours away from home with me on my birthday. Everyone else ditched except for you. We're at that point, Milo. We. Are. Friends."

"Really? Friends? Are we gonna make it Facebook official?" I joked.

He smiled at me. "Let's move past questions. Instead of questions, let's do– I don't know, _answers_."

"Answers," I restated.

He nodded vigorously, proud of his own idea. "Next time you wanna ask me a question, say an answer instead."

"An answer to what? An interview question, a pop quiz, a survey..."

"Answers to... any unasked questions."

"Alright, gotcha. I think." I paused, wracking my brain. The first thing that came to mind popped out of my mouth in the form of an accidental scream. "My ankle hurts!"

Ezra jumped from the noise. "Yelling's optional."

"It adds spice! You should try, you might like it."

He thought for a second, then screamed, "I didn't want to sleep at Kaya and Clyde's in the first place!"

"Aw, now all these questions are coming to mind. You really got me in a corner, dude," I whined.

"It's 'cause they're pretentious assholes and I've always known it, but I'm afraid to alienate some of my only friends!" he continued.

"Thanks for that, uh, additional answer."

"Welcome."

"TMI, maybe. Well, assuming things can be TMI in this game."

The lights from the Canadian side of the falls shone in his pupils. "Depends on how far you're willing to go."

"I have a wart on my dick!" I cried out. Ezra seemed horrified. "That was a joke. Not a real answer, I guess, my bad. I do have this weird vein, though– wait–" I switched back into a yell. "I have a weird vein on my dick! It's big and really fucking creepy! The vein, not my dick! There, now it's a real answer."

Ezra laughed and I smiled, and we stared at the falls in the distance and were generally quiet for a moment. Then I heard him take a huge breath of air. He opened his mouth, paused, then shouted at the top of his lungs in a defeated tone I'd yet to hear from him. "I wanted to drop out of school but I didn't want to seem like a loser for the rest of my life, so I threw that party at school!" He sounded agonized, weighed down. "I started a fight just so someone would get me in trouble! I fuckin' hated everything! I wanted to die!" He inhaled sharply, then delivered the final blow. "If I hadn't gotten out of there, I would've _died_!"

He was left breathless. I gaped at him, shocked, and he panted through the gaps in a slowly-forming grin. A chuckle sprouted in the back of his throat and spiraled into riotous laughter as he rubbed his cheek with one hand and reached for his cigarettes with the other.

"That's not funny, Ezra," I murmured.

"Maybe to you." When he handed me a cigarette, his eyes met mine and his self-assured smile dissipated. "For the record, I'm glad I didn't die."

"Me too."

He bit his lip. "Sorry for getting too real. Didn't mean to be depressing or anything."

"You're fine." I knelt down to rub my ankle, which was pulsing in pain. Ezra peered over at me, question marks dancing in his expression, but stayed true to his ban on inquiries.

I decided to fill in the blanks. "My ankle hurts because of the time I got hurt during a rugby game!" I screamed, nearly matching the ferocity of the water. "I didn't feel like playing the rest of the season and I wanted to get injured! So I didn't move out of way of some big guy who came charging at me! But right now I kind of wish I did because my ankle is affected by changes in temperature and it SUCKS MAJOR ASSHOLE!"

I think I said it because I'd never said it before, and I liked the way my words seemed to live and die at the edge of the whole world with only Ezra around to know I'd said anything at all. When he gazed at me, his eyes reminded me of the night of the employee party: spilling over with hope and diluted by gallons of admiration. Somehow, I'd provided an answer he'd been searching for, and not just about how I'd hurt my ankle.

"On purpose?" His quiet voice was nearly drowned out by the sound of the water.

I shrugged. "I mean, I'd been considering it for a while, and the opportunity just kind of–" I stopped short and folded my arms. "Hey, wait. That was a question!"

"Sorry," Ezra mumbled. He turned away from me and closed his eyes. "Guess we're not so different, huh."

"I guess not." I didn't really know what I was agreeing to, but it seemed to mean something to Ezra.

He smiled faintly. "Fuck, what a birthday. I'm shit-faced."

I tapped my cigarette and watched the ashes fall into the water. "Yeah, I'm feeling nicely fucked up. Like I could do anything."

"Anything."

"You heard me," I said, then noticed his expression. With raised eyebrows, he looked me up and down as though he was trying to decide whether or not to buy me to hang on his wall. My heart raced. I thought about what Lynette had said earlier: _he hates having crushes._ "What are you..."

He looked away and laughed loudly. "Nah, don't worry, I'm just joking–"

"If you want to make out with me again, just fucking say it!" The scream, directed toward the water, had hopped on a jolt of adrenalin and was carried out by intoxicant-fueled restlessness. Ridding the thought from my head made me feel empowered; it had grown from my inability to shake the feelings of _that night_ since it happened. I looked to Ezra excitedly, expecting some sort of reward for revealing the unspoken truth of the moment.

Ezra, however, appeared bewildered. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He put out his cigarette, then looked back at me with a renewed smirk. "I was thinking about blowing you, actually," he said, nonchalance permeating his voice. "But you were _so_ close, sweetheart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I highly recommend introducing The Question Game to your circle of friends. You'll find out things you can never, ever erase from your memory. Also, sorry for the ~cliffhanger~ of sorts.
> 
> As always, thanks for the support! I'm so grateful to everyone who takes the time to review/follow/read. Stay tuned for shit to go down...


	8. Aisle 9: Outcome

One of the infallible truisms in my family is that if my parents invite/command me to eat dinner with them, they're either about to dump some bad news or rip me a new one. When I returned from Niagara Falls with so many bags under my eyes I needed a luggage cart to drag them around, Mom ever-so-delicately demanded my presence at the dinner table at six o' clock. Thanks to the advance warning, I made sure to prepare a pre-dinner cocktail in my quarters.

"This is difficult for me to tell you," said Dad as he gripped a glass of sparkling grape juice, a telltale sign of his pledge to sobriety. "But there's been a death in the family."

"Who is it?" My jaunty cadence seemed to offend my parents, so I tried again in a monotone. "I mean, that's terrible and all, I just wanna know..."

Gravely, Dad stared me in the eyes. "Johnson."

I cannot express how hard it was for me to suppress laughter while my head was buzzing. "Johnson," I clarified. "Like, our old dog that Jude took to college with him."

"Yes."

I snorted. Mom glared. I probably would've had my branch cut from the family tree had I not quickly disguised it as a cough. " _Ahem_ , sorry. That's awful. Rest in peace, ol' buddy." Trying to appear pious, I performed the sign of the cross. Don't think it won me any points with the parents.

"Jude's incredibly broken up about it. We're going to take a trip out there to console him," Mom explained.

Feasibly, I could see Jude sobbing over our dog that had its will to live sucked out by numerous tumors before Jude had even left for school. But I also knew that deep down, my parents ached for any excuse to visit my brother in sunny Florida. I secretly hoped they were going to plan for retirement while they were down there.

"Do I have to go?" I asked. "Er, do you want me to go?"

"You're invited, of course. I'm sure Jude would love to see you," said Mom.

"How long would we be gone?"

"About ten days," Dad told me. "We're leaving in two weeks."

There were a couple factors to consider in this decision. First and foremost, the mere thought of traveling with my parents– time spent at the destination not included– would undoubtedly be Hell on Earth. Second, I would most likely be sharing Jude's cramped guest room with the same snoring, arguing, generally old parents. Third, though it went without saying, any alcohol consumption would be one hundred percent out of the question.

Most importantly, my parents hardly ever took trips together. The last time they did, it was my senior year, right before graduation. People in my class still revere the party I threw as the top rager of high school. Clean up was a bitch, but in the end not a single picture frame or coffee table book was out of place. I knew for a fact I could get away with it again.

"I might need to work," I told them. "It's, uh, apparently a really busy couple weeks coming up at Vita-Mart."

"Because of Football season, I'd imagine," Dad surmised.

"Right," I lied through my teeth.

Mom sighed. "Well, if you find out you can go, we'll buy your ticket."

As soon as I got to my room, I collapsed into a fit of laughter and poured myself another drink. I prepared a text to send to Lynette and Ezra about the encounter with my parents, but I knew I couldn't send it; after all, our trip ended on a weird, tense note. Lynette had remained totally quiet during the car ride home, which was unusual. And Ezra, God, who knew where I stood with him. He wanted me to tell him not to regret what had happened, to not get "pushed around" by him, whatever that meant– but telling stone-faced, sober Ezra what to do sounded like a death wish.

At the least, I figured I needed to check on Lynette's well-being. Silent Lynette was a blessing in theory, but mildly frightening to witness in reality. As I laid in bed, screwdriver in one hand and phone in the other, I texted her. She called me two seconds later, words slurring.

"You know what she told me?" was the first thing Lynette said.

"What? Who? Millie?"

"Who else?" Lynette cried. "She said– we were gonna, y'know, we were gonna fuck, and she said she had to tell me the truth. You know what she said? She's got a boyfriend overseas. They're in an _open relationship_ and she can fuck around with anyone she wants while he's gone."

"Well, that's not terrible. At least she was honest with you."

That was absolutely not what Lynette wanted to hear. "Are you _kidding_?" she exclaimed in a strained tone. "It's a motherfuckin' tragedy!"

"Come on, Lynette, stop being so negative. I think she really likes you."

"That's the problem! She said she does like me, but that's fuckin' stupid. In the end, I'm always going to end up being second to some random dude."

"So did you cut things off with her or what?"

She exhaled heavily. "No."

"The fuck, Lynette."

"She's fuckin' perfect, you've seen her, I can't let something like that go. I'll deal with it until she realizes she should lavish me with all her attention and break up with the guy."

"Harsh," I said. "Good luck."

"Yeah, well–" Lynette stopped short, then sounded like she'd taken her mouth away from the phone. "I'm talking to Milo. Huh? Okay, whatever, 'Ra." A door closed in the background. Lynette lowered her voice. "What the hell happened between you two?"

I sat up straight. "What did he just say to you?"

"Literally nothing, he mumbled and wouldn't tell me what he said. Don't change the subject."

"I'm not, it's..." I rubbed my eyes. "Nothing happened."

"So when I asked him why the knees of his pants were all dirty and he muttered ' _Milo_ ,' I'm supposed to believe nothing happened?" She was smiling, I could hear it. I had no response for her. "If you don't say anything, I'm just going to assume he blew you." Taking the out, I stayed silent. "I'm right! I _knew_ it!"

"Shut up. Can we talk about this some other time?"

"We can talk about it now. Meet me at the Rock."

"Aren't you already drunk though?"

"Fuck you." She hung up.

For the record, she was tipsy and a little high when she showed up to Rock Bottom and spent the first half hour bemoaning her situation with Millie. I didn't mind being a shoulder to cry on, though any attempts I made to insinuate that things might be alright were instantly shot down. Truth be told, I was hoping she'd forget what we'd originally met up to discuss.

But after a fiery tirade about how Millie's boyfriend "definitely couldn't make her moan like last night," Lynette paused. "Speaking of moaning, 'Ra gave you a blowjob."

There was no hiding it, nor was there any need to, and I was just drunk enough to let my guard down. "Yepp."

"How'd it happen?"

"He put my dick in his mouth."

"You're so fuckin' funny," she said sarcastically. "Tell me."

I relayed a general version of what happened, feeling disconnected from my body as I recounted the events. Lynette's eyes remained enlarged the entire time. "Right by the water? Goddammit. He showed me the fuck up," she grumbled. "Maybe if I'd taken Mills down there, she'd have ended it with the boy on the spot."

"You know what they say: Niagara Falls is a major aphrodisiac."

"No one says that," she retorted. "So how's it feel, not being as straight as you thought?"

I looked at her through slitted eyes. "It's fine, thanks."

"You have a major existential crisis yet? Did you go back through your past, try to figure out the signs? Making out with a dude when you were at school probably sums it up pretty well..."

I groaned and lurched forward until my forehead touched the table. "It could've been anyone else. Anyone but Ezra."

Lynette folded her arms over her chest. "Hey! What's wrong with 'Ra?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

She waved her hands back and forth. "As soon as I said it, I thought of a billion answers. Carry on."

I took a deep breath as emotion welled up inside me. The night previous, I'd begged for someone to talk to about this. Now, putting my feelings into words seemed like a relief I didn't deserve.

"Honestly, Lynette," I began, words already shaking in my throat. "Ezra is amazing, okay? He's interesting, and he's different, and I feel comfortable around him, and he makes me feel like things are alright even when they're not... and then he switches– sobers up, whatever– and all of a sudden he doesn't want to talk to me, he doesn't want to look at me, and I feel like I did something wrong when I _know_ I didn't. It's making me crazy, Lynette– like, all I wanted to do today was sit in my room and listen to 'Iris' by the Goo Goo Dolls on repeat and I don't fucking know _why_. I haven't heard that song since middle school– middle school for fuck's sake– who _does_ that? God, what the fuck is wrong with me?"

I was winded. Lynette sat still like she was considering everything I said, then applauded. "Not exactly an existential crisis, but a good attempt."

"Thanks, I really needed you to pass judgment on my breakdown," I grumbled.

"You need some better music to listen to, man. There's a bazillion songs that have the same message as 'Iris' but they're a kajillion times cooler."

"I know," I said flatly, rising to my feet. "I'm gonna go close my tab."

"Oh my God, sit the fuck down, I'll give you motherly advice about 'Ra if that's what you're looking for." I sighed, but obeyed. She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on top of her hands, studying my weary expression before speaking. "I'm gonna tell you right now that I'm biased."

"Biased?"

"I want you two to be together almost as much as I want to Facebook message Mills's dumb-looking boyfriend to tell him the Turkish mafia is after his ass and he's gotta go AWOL. Like I said before, 'Ra's more fun because of you, and I have fun with you too. Plus, I already have a list of double dates planned, so it would be a shame for gems like drunk laser tag and pumpkin-carving contests to go to waste." She finished her drink and reached into her pocket for a pack of gum. "At the same time, 'Ra's tricky. He's a sad, anti-social, high-functioning alcoholic who finds it tough to express any emotion other than apathy or distaste when he's sober. I get frustrated with him, you're gonna get frustrated with him, it's normal. But you can't give up. If you like him– or, I guess, like the way he sucks you off– do it."

I blinked. "Do what?"

"Whatever you want! Kiss him, date him, ride his dick every day of your life, shit, marry him if you wanna get crazy! Just prepare yourself for a fuckin' rollercoaster," she warned. "His personality fluctuates like a bitch. But I'll tell you for sure that all the good things you see at the core of him? Those are genuine."

She ended up writing a list of songs on a napkin that were "like 'Iris', but better." I fell asleep listening to them and woke up to my alarm going off at eight in the morning, headphones still on my ears.

•

Nadia eyed up Sonja Rapp as she left the store, three menial items in tow. "Are you two dating?"

"She wishes," I said, an all-day headache motivating my sharp tone.

Nadia simpered. "She seems nice."

"I guess." Since Sonja had returned to Vita-Mart, I assumed her crush on me remained in spite of the bizarre text she'd received over the weekend. Luckily, Lynette was not around to snicker revealingly at the sight of the poor girl.

Nadia put her hands on her hips. "Shoot, I should've asked if she wants to work here so she can spend time with you. Next time she comes in, ask if she can lift fifty pounds."

"You'd make that tiny girl work in the back?"

She sighed. "Well, I'm gonna be down a person soon. You know Luis, yeah?" I nodded, but as usual, I couldn't match a face to the name. "He's going to be helping his mother move in a couple weeks. It would be fine if she was from the area, but unfortunately, she's in Iceland."

"Looks like you're gonna have to go do some heavy lifting for the good of the store, Nadia," I quipped.

"It may very well come down to that. Unless..." She looked at me and stroked her chin.

I quirked an eyebrow. "You're gonna ask me to fill that role, aren't you?"

"Only if you can. You'd have to come in a few hours early, and I'd still need you on registers for the morning shift. But I'd pay you overtime wages for any hours clocked in the back."

Needless to say, my interest was piqued. "Who would I be working with?"

"Ezra," she replied instantly, then stopped as though she had to take a moment to remember everyone else. "Uh, Ryan, Carlisle, Gustav, Marianne... and others. Think about it, get back to me."

It was the perfect set-up: an airtight excuse for skipping out on Florida, and a way to spend time around Ezra. I figured it would be a good way to figure out whether or not his sober side was as bad as I thought. "I'll do it," I told Nadia.

"Really? Great!" She took her phone out of her pocket and checked the calendar. "Two weeks from today, you'll come in at six with the rest of the stockroom employees. Sound okay?"

"Works for me."

She smiled. "I appreciate it, Milo."

On my break, I popped an ibuprofen and decided to clean up some of the aftermath of the Falls trip. Ezra was working in the produce section as I walked toward the break room. Boldly, I approached him with purpose in my steps.

"Remember what you told me?"

Ezra lazily tapped on a head of cauliflower nestled in the crook of his arm. Unwilling to give up, I pointed to my ear. He looked disgruntled, but took out an earbud.

"Do you remember what you told me at Niagara Falls?"

He sighed, placed the cauliflower with its mates on the shelf, and refused to glance at my face. "No, but I'm sure it's inconsequential to my job."

"Come on, Ezra, just hear me out."

He turned to his utility cart and grabbed a bag of carrots. "Really don't want to talk about it."

"You told me not to let you regret what happened."

"I didn't say that," he mumbled after a moment.

"Keep telling yourself that."

"Mhm."

It was tempting to throw my hands up and storm away, but Lynette's words echoed in my head: _You're going to get frustrated with him. Don't give up._

I took a breath, then spoke quietly. "We were lying on the grass by the falls, you'd just spit into the water, and you were falling asleep." His fingers fumbled to grip a bushel of kale. "You told me that you were going to regret what happened when you were sober, and you were going to push me around. You said I shouldn't let you do either."

His eyes darted to me for a split second. I was actually getting to him. "What else did I say?"

"That you were gonna be like this to me. A jerk, I mean."

The faint beginnings of a smile appeared on Ezra's face. "You think I'm a jerk, huh?"

"Definitely."

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the distinct sound of Nadia's shoes on the tile floor. She walked up to me and crossed her arms. "Milo," she said warily. "You're not distracting Ezra from his work, are you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," I told her.

She looked skeptical. "Ezra?"

He laughed through his nose. "Milo was just, uh, expressing his love for leafy greens," he said, holding up the bushel of kale.

"There will be plenty of time for that when he starts working in the back with you," said Nadia. Ezra tilted his head. "Get to the break room, Milo."

"Will do," I assured her. When she walked away, I smirked at Ezra's confused expression. "What? Excited we'll be working in the back together?"

"That's one way of looking at it." He turned to me. "Wanna come over tonight?"

I stared at him in disbelief. "So, that's it? You're done being a jerk to me?"

"Answer my question."

"I... sure."

"My place, eight o' clock. I'll supply the drinks. Now, follow the boss's orders." He smiled as he shooed me toward the break room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 1:30 AM and I am tired enough to think it's a good idea to put musical recommendations on the end of this chapter. Why? I don't know. I'm tired.
> 
> Certainty – Temples  
> just cuz you can't – pronoun  
> The Jerk – Electric Guest
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, you guys are amazing & keep me goin'. Also, hmu if you have any suggestions for a playlist called "Like 'Iris', But Better."


	10. Aisle 10: Anthem

Any worries I had about post-weekend awkwardness melted as soon as I walked in the door of the apartment. Ezra and Lynette were in a heated argument about which record to blast so they could properly annoy their upstairs neighbor, and they asked for help making the decision. I flipped through their box of vinyl as they loomed over me, watching.

"He's not gonna know anything," said Lynette. She sipped her beer, scowling judgmentally.

Ezra chuckled. "Give him a chance."

"Oh, Elliott Smith!" I said excitedly, pointing to an album I'd found in the box. "That's that one guy... the sad guy. And I know this one, Manchester Orchestra, they have that song about friends or whatever. Then this band, FIDLAR... don't they make angry music about getting drunk and doing heroin?"

Ezra smirked at Lynette, who seemed pleasantly surprised. "See? I'm rubbing off on him."

"Hand me FIDLAR, I forgot we had that," Lynette said. I passed it up and she ran her fingers over the graffiti-laden cover art. " _This_ is the album we use to piss off the neighbors. Settled?" she asked Ezra.

"Hell yeah. Queue that shit, baby."

"Wait," I said, jogging over to the fridge. "I have a last-minute entry."

"Is it hiding in the vegetable drawer?" asked Lynette.

"No, I need a drink before I willingly embarrass myself."

After downing half a beer, I hooked my phone up to the speakers and unapologetically blasted a DJ HighLo classic. I prepared to cringe through every awkward transition and failed bass drop; as the track began, however, Ezra offered his hand to Lynette, who accepted the unspoken invitation to grind against his leg.

I laughed, and they danced their hearts out, and through the din of unharmonious synths, I could understand why they'd started dancing. Maybe, just maybe, there was something salvageable in what I'd previously deemed as amateur.

"Play another," urged Lynette as the music faded to static.

I shook my head. "That's the only one I have on my phone."

"Fuck, then let's _make_ another. What kind of technology do you need? Like, GarageBand?"

"GarageBand works alright in a pinch, but–"

There were no buts. Ezra fetched his computer, loaded up GarageBand, and Lynette talked endlessly about how we were going to form a lo-fi indie band and take over the underground scene. We only got fifteen seconds into our first hit single– a feat which took nearly two hours to complete– before we got sidetracked, giggling at the application's pre-installed sound effects.

Lynette passed out on the couch soon after, apparently exhausted from texting Millie into the wee hours of the previous morning. Ezra and I stayed up talking about everything except the weekend. It was almost like he was purposely avoiding the topic– not that I minded, considering I wouldn't have anything to say about it except "I appreciated the public blowjob, bro, but you confuse the shit out of me."

Just when I thought the lull in the conversation and the look in his eyes meant something deeper, he threw me for a loop. "All this talk about writing songs has got me thinking," he said, tapping on the side of his beer. "Shit, I gotta find something."

He led the way to his room. It felt warm; foreign, but warm. The only decorations on his walls were two dirty mirrors and a bent-up, signed poster of some band I didn't know. I sat on his bed, gazing around the room as he shuffled through a box hidden under the desk in the corner. Feeling my buzz shift into light drowsiness, I leaned back and noticed a few pieces of paper taped to the ceiling.

I squinted at them. "Hey, what are these above the bed?"

Ezra stopped rummaging through his things to look at me. "You saw those?"

"They're kind of hard to miss."

"You'd be surprised," he mumbled. "They're news articles about– God, it's so depressing, I shouldn't even tell you– they're about the party that got me kicked out of school."

"Not depressing," I said. "Just questionable taste."

"I put them up there when I moved in here, right after I got ousted. The motivating thought behind it was that I was gonna fall asleep looking at them every night and think, 'man, you did something crazy, something newsworthy. If you can do that, you can _totally_ get off your lazy ass and write the next great American novel.'" He sighed. "And then I proceeded to sit on my lazy ass for the next six years. Oh, hey, here it is!" Triumphantly, he held up a piece of yellowing paper with a column of words sprawling down the left-hand side. He laid down on the bed and handed it to me. "This is basically the reason I decided I wanted to write."

"'By Ezra Holstein,'" I read off the paper. "This looks embarrassing. I like it already. What is it about, exactly?"

"When I was sixteen, I had to write a song for one of my classes. I wrote about the first guy I ever kissed."

"So it _will_ be embarrassing."

"Fuck yeah." He nudged me with his shoulder. "Go ahead, I wanna hear the way you read it."

I cleared my throat dramatically. "'We Are'– and this part is in parenthesis– 'Broken Hearts.' Wow, you really nailed the whole 'song title' thing."

"Your commentary is riveting," he said sarcastically.

"The rest will be presented without notes from Milo's Peanut Gallery," I promised before continuing to read.

* * *

**WE ARE (BROKEN HEARTS)**   
_By Ezra Holstein_  
_6th Period – Songwriting Assignment_  
__  
[Verse 1]  
_I_ _think you'd like me better_  
_If you lived the way I do_  
_If you were blind to all that's good  
_ _But reveled in the view_

_[Chorus]_  
_We are broken hearts_  
_Two halves of a whole_  
_Pour your emptiness into mine  
_ _Share what's broken, make it full_

_[Verse 2]_  
_I bet you'd think I'm perfect_  
_If you saw life through my eyes_  
_Growing weary of false promises  
_ _Staying up to see sunrise_

_[Chorus]_

_[Bridge]_  
_My hands are getting tired_  
_Of pulling tricks from my sleeves_  
_Be patient, wait in shadows  
_ _I'll lock you up like thieves_

_[Chorus x2]_

* * *

Ezra grimaced. "The cadence is shitty as fuck and the syntax is _eh_. It's okay for a sixteen-year-old doing school work, but shit, did I ever think I was God's gift to the world for writing that."

"I think it's really good," I told him. "If I'd been given that assignment, I would've written it right before class started and repeated the same five words over and over."

"Hey, never underestimate the power of five words," he said.

"Like... 'get the fuck out... asshole?'"

"Yeah, or, 'the body's in the trunk.'"

"That one's better."

"That's why I'm the writer. Well, was one." He smiled forlornly at the song he wrote. "Man, I had it bad for this guy."

"Did you ever show this to him?"

Ezra chuckled bitterly. "God, no. He didn't give a shit about me. In my head, though, we had a great and terrible romance." Seeming uncomfortable, he rose to his feet and stretched.

"Got more?" I asked. Ezra looked puzzled. "Stuff you've written. I don't know what you write, I think Eitan mentioned stories–"

"You don't have to humor me."

"That's not what I'm doing," I protested. "You're a dark, mysterious force. I'm trying to understand you through the power of artistic expression."

"Listen to you, waxing poetic."

"When I drink, words come out easier."

"That's why I do it." Ezra grabbed a notebook out of his desk drawer and held it up. "This is full of depressing, heartbroken lamentations from a time before my life was actually shitty." He put it back and took out a different one. "Started this freshman year when I assumed all my high thoughts were good thoughts." He tossed it into the drawer and held up a notebook that was sitting on his desk. It was thicker and more battered than the others. "This is from when my life was _actually_ shitty, with a couple pieces from earlier this month thrown in to round it out. I can guarantee that none of these collections of poems and prose are anything you'd be interested in."

"Come on, how do you know that?"

"Because I'm not even interested, and I'm the one who wrote it all."

I stared at the paper in my hands, the relic of a sixteen-year-old kid I never knew. "Can I have this?" I asked.

"Sure."

"Now's your last chance to give it to the guy it's about."

The laugh he offered in response crackled with bitterness. "Trust me," he said, flipping through the pages in his notebook. "He doesn't want it."

My walk home was illuminated by soft, orange streetlights that lined the roads connecting Ezra and Lynette's apartment to my house. I kept staring at them, dazing, imagining how fast they'd zoom by if I was driving.

Ezra's song seemed to have a pulse, all folded up in the back pocket of my jeans. The lyrics had burrowed into my head the moment I'd first read them: _be patient, wait in shadows, I'll lock you up like thieves..._

He hadn't even tried to kiss me that night. I wasn't sour about it– I was still working up the courage to fully take in the fact that I kind-of-sort-of _liked_ the guy– but I wondered what he wanted from me. I guess receiving a single blowjob doesn't necessarily mean you're gonna be hot and heavy all the time. Maybe Ezra reserved physicality for choice moments beside majestic geographic features.

Then I started thinking about the blowjob itself, and the way Ezra looked in my eyes, and his tongue against my dick, and how I was _definitely_ getting a semi just remembering it. I quickened my pace, feeling the sudden need to get home; specifically, in bed with my pants off.

By the time I turned out the lights in my room, thoughts of Ezra's mouth still fresh in my mind, it was midnight. Nearly sober and a hint fatigued, I wiggled out of my jeans with some difficulty. They hit the ground with a _clunk_ , which is when it dawned on me that my phone was still in my pocket. As I bent down to take it out, it started vibrating.

_Great timing,_ I thought sarcastically. Then I realized how late it was. _Who the hell..._

It was Shortstop, and he sounded hysterical. "Holy shit, Techno, dude, thank God you answered."

"Hey, what's going on?" I was alarmed by his tone, but mostly annoyed by the interruption.

"Something happened to Bud, man, I don't know how to explain it... he needs your help, now."

"Slow down. What's going on?"

"You need to come here."

"What? To school?"

"No, no, we're in Syracuse– not far from you– holy shit, man..."

"Shortstop, c'mon, you need to tell me what happened–"

"I don't know, I don't know... I'll text you the address of where we are– fuck, just get here!"

"But I can't drive," I started to say, but he'd hung up before I could get the words out.

The way Shortstop spoke scared the shit out of me. His voice was hoarse and desperate, like he'd been yelling at something before he got on the phone. I tried calling again, once, twice, three times. Then I tried Skeeter, then Bud, then everyone else on the team. No one answered. Anxiety crept in. According to my GPS, the address Shortstop gave me was an hour and a half away. I could cut it down to under an hour.

_Get there at one, leave by four, get Dad's car home before he wakes up. That could work._ Shortstop's plea repeated in my head. I pulled on my jeans. _That's gotta work._

As quietly as possible, I grabbed my dad's keys from their resting place on the kitchen table. They felt foreign in my grip. _My friends want me_ , was the thought that made me creep out the front door and to the car. _I can't let them down. I need them to know I'm still there for them, I'm still part of them._

Gently, I closed the driver's side door. The seat was too far back and the mirrors were askew. I fumbled around in the dark, trying to recall how to adjust the car, impatience worsening by the second.

"Come on, come on..." I muttered, pressing button after useless button, feeling for levers that weren't there. "It's not rocket science, it's a fucking car, why the fuck can't I do this..."

My frustration reached a fever pitch. I threw the keys in the ignition, but didn't start the car. The foggy windshield obscured distant streetlights into orbs of orange. I felt small sitting in the pushed-back seat. I imagined smashing into a telephone pole, imagined deer guts splattering across the hood, imagined the rugby team– in my head, each individually smug-faced guy was laughing at me as if they knew how scared I felt.

A text came through, causing my phone to vibrate cacophonously against the dashboard.

* * *

**SHORTSTOP**

_hey bro u coming?_

* * *

In that short message, something clicked. My fingers raced to text him back.

* * *

**YOU**

_Yeah. I'm in the car about to leave. But I'm not legally allowed to drive yet, so if I'm going to risk this, I need to know exactly what's going on and why I need to be there_

* * *

Ten minutes passed with no reply. I sat, numb, refusing to move.

* * *

**SHORTSTOP**

_lol u caught us. its a joke. we r in syracuse at a rave & we wanted u 2 come so we made up tht story abt bud. we 4got u cant drive. sry. tons of hot girls here tht u could hookup with tho..._

* * *

For a second, I was relieved. A moment later, I was angry. When I tiptoed back into the house and saw my mom at the foot of the stairs, I was livid.

"Milo Cornelius," she whispered in a strained tone. I winced at the sound of my middle name. "Give me those keys."

Fear gripped my chest. Lies spurted out at light-speed. "I left something in Dad's car, I needed it–"

"Keys." Abashedly, I placed them in her outstretched hand. "We'll talk about this tomorrow."

"Mom, listen to me–"

"Tomorrow." She turned and marched up the stairs, heavy footfalls thumping in time with the pounding of my heart.


	11. Aisle 11: Bonds & Brands

To this day, I'm not sure how the hell I talked around getting torn a new one by my parents. All I know is that I spent the entirety of work crafting a foolproof lie about some CD I needed from my dad's car. By the time I got home, I'd recited the lie so many times (Lynette helped by playing the role of my parents in a few practice scenarios) that I was prepared for interrogation.

The lie went off without a hitch, but I didn't escape punishment. Since Mom and Dad remained dubious about fully trusting me, they asked my elderly Aunt Myrna to housesit during their trip to Florida. It didn't take much to figure out "housesit" was code for "babysit." Needless to say, this turned my prospective Ten Days Of Party Time into Ten Days Of Incarceration.

"You've got some shitty friends," Lynette had said at work after I told her what happened.

"They're not... well, they have their moments," I responded, not ready to forgive their stupidity. At the least, I could almost forgive Skeeter. He'd texted me in the morning to apologize for everyone's dumb plan and claimed to have nothing to do with it. Knowing my teammates, though, it was difficult to avoid being suckered into participating in any crackpot idea. I did appreciate the sentiment, though.

"If they wanna see you so badly, you'd think they could remember really simple stuff about you. Like how you can't drive."

"Nah, they probably just lost track of time and thought I'd already gotten my license back."

Lynette popped a gum bubble loudly. "Maybe," she said. "Come on, let's practice again. This time, I'll be your dad after he's had a really shitty day at work. No holding back."

A few of the rugby guys wanted to video chat that afternoon, supposedly to "apologize," but Bud's apology sounded a lot like bragging about the blowjob he got behind the rave venue. Dumpster and Shortstop sat at Bud's side. Judging by the bored looks on their faces, they'd already heard the story a thousand times.

"It was the hottest fucking thing, dude, swear to Jesus. You're not living until this girl has sucked your cock."

"It sounds like it."

"Look her up on Facebook, I'll text you her name, it's foreign– oh yeah, she totally had an accent, too, for fuck's sake– God, last night was legendary, I'm fucking telling you."

Dumpster yawned. I forced a smile. "Yeah, wish I was there."

"Us too!" Shortstop spoke up, seeming excited to finally get a word in edgewise. "That's why we hit you up. We wanted to see Techno in full swing. It would've been sick."

Something he said resonated with me. "Wait, why did you want me to be there?"

"We wanted to watch you work your magic, know what I'm sayin'? I loved seeing you just go up to a rando and start mackin' on her in like, two seconds flat, no matter what," said Shortstop.

"I almost broke that record last night," Bud interjected.

Shortstop ignored him. "It's the one thing missing from the team this semester."

"My ability to hook up with girls?" The guys agreed in unison. I swallowed with some difficulty.

I started drinking every night out of habit. The afternoon liquor store clerk knew me by name; or, rather, by _Maurice Lennon's_ name. There was a weird emptiness that seized me whenever I didn't end the night with a drink in my hand. I rationalized this behavior by telling myself I was just bored. Bored and in need of a way to quell the nonstop horniness that I couldn't deal with in any way besides jerking off to the same memory of my dick in Ezra's mouth.

The snag in my otherwise peaceful transition from Ten Girls In One Semester Milo to Milo, Falling For The Guy Who Blew Him Next To Niagara Falls was, unfortunately, the constant reminder that my friends from school could never know. It was a stomach-churning fact to swallow, so I pushed it out of my head. I needed to keep my friends, because they were my people, my group, my social circle. If I fucked things up with them before I even got back– by, say, implying that I might not be a source of entertainment due to an unexpected crush– then I'd lose the only friends I had at school.

Lynette's brother made an appearance at Vita-Mart on the Friday before my parents were slated to leave town. This time, Lynette was anticipating his arrival, and spent her entire shift talking about him.

Vinny wasn't dressed in a suit when he walked in; rather, he looked relaxed in a sweater and a pair of dark jeans. He immediately hugged his sister, then turned to me. "Milo, how's it going? Getting tired of the inferior Clifton sibling yet?"

"Been tired of her ever since we met," I quipped.

Lynette slapped my forearm. "Being mean won't get you invited to the bar tonight," she warned.

"Wow, I really can't guess which bar you'll be at."

Vinny tilted his head. "This kid is twenty-one?"

"Yes, of _course_ ," Lynette mused, though she shook her head at the same time. "Show him your ID, 'Lo."

"Uh, I don't know if I should be showing it to someone who's involved with the law," I joked before I slid it out of my wallet.

Vinny studied the ID, a smirk on his face. "Incredible," he murmured. "In my day, we snuck in through the back door and drank until we got kicked out."

Lynette sighed. "Times, they are a-changin'."

Despite the way I heard him laughing at something Vinny said in the snack aisle, Ezra wasn't at Rock Bottom that night as I'd expected. When I asked where he was, Lynette rolled her eyes. "I don't know, he fed me some bullshit excuse. I think he's just isolating himself for fun. Hey, Vinny, wanna do Jager Bombs?"

"'Nette, you should know my answer," he said, folding his arms over his chest.

"So... yes, as long as I'm paying."

He smirked. "That's my sister."

Vinny's life was a performance. He sat up straight and let his arms hang over the back of the booth, looking relaxed, but not uninterested. His tone of voice was soothing and never too loud. The smile that spread across his face was so consistently charming, it seemed like it had been practiced in a mirror. Even after Lynette had detached herself from his side so she could greet Millie, I didn't feel uncomfortable. He twisted what could've been an awkward silence into something better than small talk.

"You were a jock, right?" he asked, squinting at me.

I thought about it for a second. "What's your definition of 'jock?'"

"Someone who plays a sport."

"I don't necessarily have to be good at the sport, right?"

"Not at all."

"Then yes. I played rugby when I was at school."

"Nailed it," he said proudly. "Your arms gave you away."

I glanced down at the skin protruding from my t-shirt. "Shit, really? I haven't worked out in months."

"I'm hyper-aware of arms," he explained. "Fucked up my left elbow pretty badly in high school– I played soccer, fell funny on the field– I tried to keep my right arm strong while the other healed. I started looking lopsided, like Frankenstein's jock."

"Geeze, I can only imagine how much Lynette teased you about that."

"'Nette was a menace, yeah. But Ezra was just as bad." Then he nonchalantly took a drink, like he was waiting for my reaction.

"You and Ezra were friends in high school?" I asked. "I mean, I knew he and Lynette were friends..."

There was something pushing at the corners of his lips, like he was trying not to grin. "Yeah, we started hanging out because she introduced us. He was always at the house, it was inevitable–"

"Vinny!" Lynette cried, interrupting the stream of questions I'd prepared to ask. "Pause the convo, you need to meet Mills. Er, Millicent." Predictably, Millie giggled.

"Millicent, it's a pleasure," said Vinny, extending his hand to her. "Always wanted to meet an honest-to-goodness model."

"Is she really a model?" I whispered to Lynette as Millie and Vinny continued talking.

"A plus-size lingerie model, to be precise," Lynette told me. "She's got a huge group of fans in Brazil."

" _Plus-size_? No way."

"Funny. That's exactly what I said the first time I saw her naked."

The girls became considerably more chatty after a quick trip to the bathroom. We all got shots and more drinks. It was around Vinny's third whiskey on the rocks that I saw his gaze turn to me after every joke he told. It wasn't a look of longing like the ones Ezra offered whenever he fell victim to insobriety; Vinny's stare seemed preoccupied, silently asking questions I couldn't answer.

When the girls went to the bathroom– undoubtedly to do more lines, not that I was judging– I couldn't bring myself to look Vinny in the eyes. I quickly downed the remainder of my beer and ran up to the bar. As I ordered another Corona, my phone vibrated.

* * *

**EZRA**

_how's the rock?_

* * *

**YOU**

_It's aight. Why didn't you come?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_feelin tired_

* * *

**YOU**

_I see. I figured you'd wanna hang out with Vinny, since you guys are old friends and all_

* * *

**EZRA**

_who told you that?_

* * *

**YOU**

_Vinny_

* * *

**EZRA**

_oh. lol. i guess we are. it's w/e i'll see him another time_

* * *

**EZRA**

_stop by after the bar, i wanna give you something_

* * *

**YOU**

_Ok. I was thinking of leaving soon anyway_

* * *

**EZRA**

_sick of vinny already?_

* * *

**YOU**

_No he's cool, I'm just tired like you_

* * *

**EZRA**

_we can be tired together. see you soon_

* * *

"I gotta go," I said to the table as soon as my latest beer had been drained.

Lynette looked heartbroken. Probably just the coke talking. "Aww, 'Lo, why you in such a rush? You must hate us. Is that it? Do you hate us? 'Lo, tell the truth."

"I don't," I assured her. "Just, uh, I–"

"You're making excuses! You _actually_ hate us!"

"He doesn't hate us," Millie told Lynette, petting her arm softly.

Lynette's attitude instantly changed. "Okay, we'll miss you," she said.

"You won't miss me for long. I'm heading to your apartment. Ezra wants me to go over to get something."

I instantly regretted saying it. Lynette's eyes grew wide. I could practically see dialogue choices whip around her head. When she finally landed on a terrible comment to say, her face was alight with joy. "'Get something?' Like your dick sucked?" I gave her the dirtiest look possible.

Vinny's expression crinkled. "Kinda lewd, 'Nette."

"Only 'cause it's true," she shot back. She looked at me, dying of shame on the opposite side of the booth. Then her eyes darted to Vinny, then back and forth between us as a sick grin appeared. "Oh my God," she murmured in awe. "Both of you have kissed Ezra."

Vinny slowly turned toward me. I kept my stare pointed straight ahead as my cheeks burned. If my sexual exploits weren't on the verge of being blurt out, I would've pressed for details. Instead, I leapt to my feet. "I'm gonna, uh, leave now."

Vinny cleared his throat. "Mind if I walk you out? I need a smoke." Seeing as he was already standing up and grabbing his jacket, I figured I didn't have a choice.

He offered me a cigarette when we exited the building. "It's kind of humorous," he began, sparking his lighter. "You didn't know Ezra and I were friends back in the day, I didn't know you guys are close now..."

"Yeah, weird."

"He's a strange guy, isn't he?"

"We all have our quirks," I said neutrally.

A few moments of silence passed. "Don't mind what Lynette said in there. He and I kissed back in high school."

"Oh," I said, relieved.

"Yeah. Nothing deeper than that. Hope you two are doing well, though."

"Thank– wait, no, we're not together or anything."

Vinny raised an eyebrow and ashed his cigarette. "That right? I was under the impression you were."

"Nope." _What the hell gave you that impression?_ I wondered.

"Huh. Well, sorry for assuming," he said. "Hey, I won't keep you any longer. I'm fine out here on my own."

"Alright. I appreciate the cig, man." I handed him a dollar.

He took it without question. "No problem. Just, you know, give Ezra my regards."

The issue with Vinny was that he was fun, charismatic, and it was hard not to gravitate toward him– but in spite of all that, I couldn't shake the sensation of his eyes latching onto me. I knew for a fact it wouldn't be my last time seeing Vinny, and I didn't know if that was a good thing.

•

Ezra used the hand that wasn't gripping a beer to open the door. "You're alone?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Thank God. I am too fuckin' worn out to jump on the Clifton train." I nearly asked if that was a euphemism.

A song drifted out of his room. Comfort oozed from the singer's deep tone. Ezra watched as I tilted my head at the sound of it. "Adam Green," he explained. "I think you'd like him. He's bizarre as hell, but you could make a goddamn blanket out of his voice. How'd you fare tonight?"

Questions bunched up in my throat, but I resisted the urge to ask. "Uh, fine. Lynette and Millie were doing coke again."

"And they didn't ask you to join?"

"Now that you mention it, no, those assholes didn't."

"Rude. Want a beer?"

As it turned out, Ezra summoned me to his apartment to give me old mix CDs. "My last car didn't have an aux cord," he told me, sounding nostalgic. "It was old school as hell– for fuck's sake, it fell apart on me in the middle of the highway– but I used to burn a shit-ton of mixes so I'd have good tunes for driving. Anyway, now I have no use for these, and you seem interested in my music, so I thought you might want them."

He handed me a CD case with a broken zipper. The sleeves were filled with hand-decorated disks. Each mix bore a title that pertained to the mood of its songs: _I Wish I Was Asleep_ ; _Emo Hearts Bleed Black_ ; _Get Drunk And Punch A Douchebag..._ stuff like that.

"Dude," I said in admiration. "This is a lot of music."

He simpered. "Welcome to the life of Ezra Holstein. Want me to put one on so you know what's in store for you?"

I flipped to the beginning of the case and took the first CD out of its sleeve. It was only when I handed the disk to Ezra that I noticed its title, emblazoned in red ink: _Makeout Jamz For Sexy Timez._

Ezra's eyebrows rose as he carried the CD to his stereo. "Interesting choice."

"It was the first one in there," I sputtered.

"I know that. I'm just being an asshole," he assured me with a smile. When he pressed play, the room filled with a sensual, warbling song that could only be properly described by the title of the mix.

My stomach did somersaults. "Totally unintentional," I murmured.

Ezra laughed. He took a seat beside me on his mattress and began to bob his head to the slow beat of the music. "How was hanging out with Vinny?"

"Alright," I said slowly. "He's– what's the word– hypnotic?"

Ezra fixated his gaze on his fingernails. "Hypnotic. That's a good way of putting it."

I glanced over at him, looking tentative. "Did you guys date?" The comment made Ezra's face scrunch up. "Er, I mean, he said something about kissing you... or, I guess Lynette did–"

"We didn't date. We made out once," Ezra stated. "That's all."

"Okay, I figured it wasn't–" Suddenly, something clicked. "Wait a second. Vinny said you two kissed in high school." Ezra nodded. I struggled to get my drunk mind to translate racing thoughts into a viable sentence. "Is he, you know... song boy?"

"Song boy," repeated an amused Ezra.

"Yeah, I mean– God, you know what I mean– the guy you wrote the song about!"

He refused to look at me. "Maybe."

"That's a yes!" I exclaimed, impressed with my skills of deductive reasoning. "Holy shit, you were in love with Lynette's brother."

"I wouldn't call it 'love,'" he corrected. "More like misplaced lust."

I scoffed. "Whatever, I'm still going to rag on you for it. It's gotta be weird that he's around, it's gotta be awkward... hey, at least now I know why you didn't wanna come out to the bar tonight."

"No, it's not awkward." I noticed he was digging his fingernails into the mattress. "We're not the same kids who got drunk off stolen wine and kissed in his childhood bedroom. We're both adults now, it was forever ago, no big deal."

"Childhood bedroom? Sexy place to swap spit," I commented.

"Yeah, especially with a _Spongebob Squarepants_ poster still taped to his wall."

"I'd laugh, but I can't judge."

"What? You got something worse in your room?"

There was no singular item in my bedroom that stood out as particularly embarrassing; rather, anyone would cringe atthe compilation of outdated items I should've trashed ages ago _._ From the decrepit folders containing papers that dated back to middle school, to the miscellaneous toy cars piled in the corner, to junior semiformal tickets– framed, no less– hanging on the wall, it was the epitome of _I was never, ever planning on returning to this room after I moved out._

Presently, I grimaced. "You could say that."

"Oh, man, what's in there?"

"You'd have to see it for yourself."

"Is that a formal invitation?"

It goes without saying, but I didn't pick up on his flirtatious signals. "Honestly, I'd tell you to come over and view my shit-hole of a room next week when my parents are on vacation, but I kind of fucked that up." With disdain on my face, I explained the car-key-stealing fiasco that lead to my Aunt Myrna getting called in for babysitting duty. Ezra appeared concerned at first, but the emotion dissipated as I griped about sharing the house with a woman whose heavy footsteps could wake the dead.

"Next week," murmured Ezra, chin resting in his palm. "Isn't that when you start work in the back with me?"

"Yeah," I drew out. "What are you getting at?"

He looked pleased with himself. "Stay here."

At first I laughed, more shocked than anything. But Ezra's expression remained. "You're serious?" I asked.

"Shit, yeah. You'll just get watched like a goddamn hawk at your place. You can crash on the couch, we'll ride to work together, it'll be easier on you– it's getting cold in the mornings, you sure as hell won't wanna walk to the Mart at six AM. Sound good?" He was talking fast, using a light tone of voice. It tiptoed on uncharacteristic, but the genuine gleam in his eye indicated that he was overflowing with honest, excited energy.

But it felt like too much at once. I didn't know how to respond, nor did I know how I wanted to respond. "No, I... I can't do that. That's totally butting in on your life."

"Not at all. Milo, I'm asking you to stay." The words sounded desperate, almost needy.

My stare lingered on his mouth as mine hung open. "I'll think about it," I answered after a pause.

As if to refrain from pushing the point further, Ezra turned away. "Okay," he stated. The rest of his beer was gulped down. Then he motioned to mine. "Need another?" I didn't, but I did.

By not immediately agreeing to Ezra's offer, I felt like I'd done something wrong. There was a subtle change in his tone; as we talked in the kitchen while he got us beer, I could hear a nagging hint of embarrassment in his voice, like I'd turned down his prom-posal in front of the whole school.

I gazed at him as he opened his freezer door in search of munchies. Moments before he shut the freezer, waffles in his grip, I caught sight of a familiar box. "Pizza rolls!" I cried, breaking a somewhat long silence between us.

Ezra seemed startled by my exclamation. "Wait, you remember?"

I looked at him funny. "The glorious existence of pizza rolls? How could I forget something that's had such a big impact on my life?"

He shook his head. "Nevermind, guess you don't..."

My eyes narrowed. _Pizza rolls,_ I thought. _There's something I should remember about pizza rolls?_ Ezra moved to the toaster to prepare his waffles. I hoisted myself onto the counter, still fixated on the freezer. When Ezra stretched his arm around me to grab something, a flood of fragmented memories rushed back in full-force.

I gasped loud enough to make Ezra lose his grip on a waffle. "Pizza rolls, oh shit, there were pizza rolls– we were gonna make them or something– I kept talking about them– we left them on the counter, they just sat there– pizza rolls, shit, why didn't we make them? And when the _fuck_ did that happen?"

Ezra scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, well," he stammered. "Might wanna answer the second question first."

It was a while ago, I knew that much. It seemed like years in the past, in another place, with someone else. But I definitely remembered Ezra's presence. _He was laughing because I kept chanting "pizza rolls!"_ I recalled, having a tough time piecing events together. _We walked back from the Rock together... I was drunk as hell... we started in the kitchen and ended up somewhere else... ended up... in his..._

_Oh._

I covered my mouth. Ezra smirked. "Figure it out?"

"Yeeepp." We didn't talk. _Makeout Jamz For Sexy Timez_ seemed deafeningly loud, though in reality it was barely audible from Ezra's bedroom.

"That's the reason you came home with me, you know."

I peered over at Ezra, who had his arms folded over his chest. "Pizza rolls?"

"Fuckin' pizza rolls," he confirmed. "I mentioned how I was going to eat them when I got back that night, and you were like, 'holy shit, I've been craving pizza rolls lately, I need some right now.' You didn't shut up about them for the rest of the night. Well, until I distracted you." My cheeks burned as Ezra popped his waffle into the toaster. A jaunty song came on the mix.

"Who is this?" I asked, gesturing toward his room with my head.

"Miike Snow."

"I've actually heard of him."

"Them. It's a group."

"Alright, Mr. Band Geek."

"Just informing you, DJ HighLo." He stood in front of me, hands resting on either side of my legs. Our close proximity was highlighted– intensified– by the song playing in the background. The edges of the world seemed dull, like we were encased in a bubble together, and when I looked at him I felt ten times more drunk than I had before. My head drifted toward his on its own. My eyelids started to close.

"Pizza rolls?" Ezra asked, breaking my concentration.

I blinked. "What?"

"Want some pizza rolls?"

If he'd asked at any other moment of my life, I would've leapt off the counter and ripped the freezer door off its hinges to get to those suckers. At the time, though, I was transfixed by a more pressing matter.

"I'm okay," I told him.

Ezra smirked, his gaze scanning my lips, my eyes. "What, you afraid we're just going to get distracted again?"

"Something like that."

I leaned in closer. Ezra's lips parted. I swear I heard his heartbeat thumping in his throat when I kissed him.

If I was given an eternity to talk about how it felt to kiss Ezra, God, I don't know if that would be enough time. It was every warm, comfortable feeling I'd ever experienced mixed with the explosive power of all fireworks shot off on the Fourth of July. It made my limbs buzz, coaxed stomach-butterflies out of cocoons, tricked my pulse into thinking I was running a marathon, and as he caressed the back of my head and ran his fingers up my thigh, I felt more like a puddle than a person.

Our kissing was cut short by a waffle leaping out of the toaster. The noise made me yelp in surprise, and Ezra laughed heartily. "Scared of a waffle, huh?" he teased. I was about to put an end to any more jokes by occupying his lips, but a knock– more like a series of small detonations on the door– interrupted me.

"'RA! I FORGOT MY KEYS! OPEN THE DOOR!" Lynette screamed. I could hear Vinny shushing her.

"I'm gonna hide in your room," I whispered, not ready to deal with the overly-drunk Cliftons when all I wanted to do was enjoy alone time with Ezra.

"Good choice," he muttered. He waited until I'd closed the door to his room to let the barflies in.

"'Ra, oh my God, I'm so fucked up," Lynette cried. The sound of her high heels tapping on the wood floor made her steps seem wobbly and unbalanced. "Fuck, I don't even– _holyshitisthatawaffle_?"

"Holy shit, that _is_ a waffle!" Ezra exclaimed with faux enthusiasm. "You can have it. I'm not hungry anymore."

Lynette squealed in delight. There were a few quick _tap tap tap_ s, then the distinct sound of breakfast food being gobbled up by a very intoxicated individual.

"Hey, Ez. How's your night been?" Exhaustion permeated Vinny's tone, like he was too worn out to project his usual put-together facade.

"Uh, it's been a quiet evening. Been drinking and writing. You know, living the Hemingway life," explained Ezra. I noticed a chipper quality to his words.

"Is Milo here?" I stiffened at the sound of my name in Vinny's slurred sentence.

"No, actually. He went home a little while ago." I clasped my hands together as I laid in Ezra's bed, giving thanks to whatever deity sent me someone so good at lying to cover my ass.

"Oh, damn," sighed Vinny. "He was pretty cool."

"'Ra thinks so too." Lynette's statement was muffled by waffle. For a second I had hope that Vinny couldn't discern what she said, but then he laughed a short, fake kind of laugh.

Ezra cleared his throat. "Okay, on that note, I'm gonna–"

"Vinny and I are gonna watch _Sideways_!" Lynette announced. "I've never seen it, but Mills _loves_ it. Oh, God, I miss her already, I miss her so much– is it weird if I call her right now?"

"Ez," Vinny said quietly as Lynette fumbled with her phone. "Got stuff to do tonight?"

"I'm thinking about going to bed. It's been a long day."

"That so," muttered Vinny.

"Mhm."

"What are you–"

" _Mills_!" Lynette gushed, her strong voice echoing off the walls and covering up Ezra and Vinny's conversation. I strained my ears to hear them, but the attempt was futile.

Ezra walked into his room shortly after. Lynette's screeches continued in the background as he locked the door. "Well, you're kind of trapped here until they pass out," he whispered.

"Not such a bad thing."

"Until I handcuff you to my bed for the rest of your days."

"Fine. Just give me beer and a bedpan."

Ezra stuck out his tongue. "Sicko." I made room for him on the bed and he laid down beside me. "So... you don't remember much about the night I took you home for pizza rolls."

"Nope. Except puking. I remember puking vividly."

"You don't remember being in bed with me."

"I know that happened, I just don't know details," I told him. "Is it gonna make me embarrassed for the rest of my life?"

"You were pretty candid with me."

"Fuck."

Ezra chuckled. "It's not that bad. I was fucked up, I said some shit too."

"Like what?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, no. If I'm repeating what I said, I'm also repeating what _you_ said."

It was a give-and-take situation, but curiosity won me over. "Okay, fine. But say yours first."

Ezra folded his hands behind his head, contemplative. "I told you," he started, pausing between words, "I wanted to get you in bed from the moment I first saw you."

" _Psh_ , that's not bad. You must've said worse."

"You'll never know." He turned on his side so he was facing me, studying my expression. "As for your drunken confessions, you said you used to think Lynette was hot. And you got turned on when she kissed you."

I cringed. "Is that it?"

To my dismay, Ezra shook his head. "You also revealed what you called Lynette before you knew her name."

"Oh God, not–"

"'Hot Cashier Girl,' right?"

I groaned, shame reaching sky-high levels. "If you told her any of this, I swear..."

"Of course I didn't, she'd rip you to shreds. Besides, right after that, you admitted I kissed better than she did, so I decided not to rat you out."

"I said wh– then _why_ did you ask me who I thought kissed better?"

"To test the waters, y'know? See if you remembered." He peered at the bottom half of my face, stopping for a moment before he went on. "Then you told me something a little more interesting."

"Do I wanna know?" I muttered, feeling sufficiently flustered.

Ezra's grin turned soft and forgiving. "You said... you said you hated being home, but if I kissed you every day like I did that night, you'd never want to leave."

"Oh."

"And that's every secret you made public, from what I can recall." With cautious energy in his movement, Ezra brought his hand to my chest. I smiled, and he smiled back.

Outside the door, Vinny started laughing loudly. The walls seemed to shake from his vigorous chortles. Ezra's hand twitched. I ached to ask him more about his long-dead connection with Vinny, but I knew it wasn't the time. If I was "trapped" in Ezra's bed until the Clifton siblings passed out, then I had more important things to attend to. I pressed my lips against his, feeling bold and drunk and numb enough to make the first move.

Back then, when we were beginning to figure each other out, I knew Ezra was flawed, but I thought he was beautifully flawed. Every bad thing about him seemed untouched by the crippling pains that brought them into existence. His vices were righteous, gilded, almost admirable.

That night, I started to see everything he did as a necessary and just action. Whenever the room started to spin he sucked on my neck and made me shiver. When a dull pain resonated behind my eyes, he sunk his fingers into my side. When he fell asleep with his shirt half-on and his feet hanging off the side of the bed, I realized how late it was.

I wiggled my way into my shirt and jacket, then wrote a message on a pink sticky note found on Ezra's desk: _HEY, RIP VAN WINKLE– I WENT HOME._ I thought for a moment, then added: _P.S. I'MMA CRASH ON YOUR COUCH NEXT WEEK. THANKS!_ I wasn't sure where to put the note, so I just stuck it on Ezra's forehead. He didn't even flinch.

Before exiting the room, I pressed my ear to the door. The TV was on and I hadn't heard anyone talk in a while, so I figured they'd fallen asleep. I slowly turned the knob and began to creep down the hall. I was steps away from the front door when the couch creaked behind me.

"Ez? That you?"

I briefly considered sprinting out of the apartment without another word, but in a second, Vinny was on his feet and walking toward me. "Not Ezra," I replied, tone cracking.

"Oh, Milo. I thought you left." He was holding his phone in one hand and rubbing his eyes. Lynette was asleep on the armchair beside the couch, half-eaten waffle lying on her chest. "What, were you hiding from us or something?"

"Yeah, that's it," I replied, trying to feign sarcasm. "I just... I forgot my phone here, so I ran back to get it."

"I didn't hear you come in. Guess _Sideways_ was too loud," he said, indicating the TV. A shot of the sky flashed onscreen, illuminating the room with vibrant light. Vinny's gaze fell below my face. "You, uh, you said you forgot your phone? You find it yet?"

"Yeah. I left it in Ezra's room."

He nodded, but didn't look satisfied with my answer. "Need a ride home, Milo?" The thought of facing the autumn chill outside made me take him up on the offer.

We didn't talk much as I directed him to my house, but when I got out of the car, he asked what I was doing next week. "Why, are you gonna be in town?"

He shrugged. "I was thinking of stopping in for a night."

"I'm working the same shift as Ezra for a little while, so he invited me to spend the week at the apartment," I explained. "As long as you don't steal the couch from me, you should come hang."

"The couch," he repeated, smiling. "Wouldn't dream of it." The way he bid me goodnight sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

I struggled to focus on the mirror as I washed my hands in the bathroom. When I turned off the faucet, I caught sight of something that had definitely not been there the last time I saw my reflection. Hickies– two, three, _four_ of them– graced the sides of my neck, displaying a spectrum of reddish-purple hues. My jaw dropped and I covered them with my hands as I looked in the mirror, eyes wide, knowing Vinny must have put two and two together.


	12. Aisle 12: Coexistence

"Look at us. We're like a couple of teenage girls doing our makeup before prom."

"Har, har."

We were sitting in Lynette's car five minutes before our shift started with the mirrors pulled down. I was dabbing at my neck with a makeup sponge covered in super pale, almost translucent liquid. "It would be helpful if you saw the sun once in a while," I grumbled, wondering if I was obscuring my hickies or just putting a spotlight on them.

"Can't. Vampires are allergic." She put the finishing touch on one of her own speckled marks. "How do I look? Passable?"

"It's like Millie was never there." I indicated my neck. "What about me?"

She cringed, then took the sponge out of my hand. "Let me try to fix it. I think your blending is off. Or you put too much on. Or not enough."

I groaned and peeked at the clock on the dash. "Three minutes."

"Don't worry, I got this," she assured me.

"Two minutes."

She attempted one final, rough rub at my neck, then threw the sponge at her backseat. "You're fine."

I sighed, staring at my splotchy reflection. "Well, time to face the music."

"Wait!" I looked over at Lynette. She was gripping a small plastic bag. "We could do lines before work. That could help."

Startled, I gazed blankly at the bag. "You're joking," I said after a second.

There was a moment's pause before Lynette cracked a smile. "Of _course_ I'm joking." She put the bag in her purse and took out a piece of gum instead.

Luckily, Nadia wasn't at Vita-Mart that day, but I faced enough scrutiny from customers who gaped at my uneven skin-tone. I figured I was home free when I clocked out for the day, but just as I was about to pull on my coat, Ryan made a surprise appearance.

"Milo!" he exclaimed, extending his fist to me. I gave him a half-hearted bump. "Heard you're gonna be hangin' in the back next week."

"You heard correctly."

His gaze flittered back and forth from my face to my neck. "Great, great. You excited?"

"For the shit-load of money I'll be making? Yes." I rapidly started buttoning my coat.

Ryan laughed. "Fuck yeah, dude. Good for fuckin' you. I'm excited, too." I raised an eyebrow. He smirked. "I'm excited 'cause I've never had my own personal bitch before."

"Bitch?" I sputtered. "Who said I'm going to be your bitch?"

The entrance to Vita-Mart clattered open. Ryan extended his arm toward the door, conceited smile unfading. "Look at that timing– hey, Nadia!" She walked to us. I quickly flipped the collar of my coat up to protect my neck. "Isn't little Milo gonna be working under me?"

"Yes. I thought he knew that." She turned to me, scanning my face. I hugged the coat closer to my body. "Ryan will be training you to work in the back, since he's been here the longest of all the morning employees. You'll report to him starting Monday. Questions?"

"Been here the longest?" I asked. "Longer than Ezra?"

"Four years longer than him," Ryan proudly informed me. _Talk about a loser,_ I thought.

Nadia nodded. "That being said, if Ryan can't make it to work one day, report to Ezra. He's second-in-charge." Ryan laughed through his nose. When Nadia shot him a look, he got pale. I walked out of Vita-Mart knowing I had to prepare myself for the shit-storm looming in the distance.

•

Aunt Myrna arrived three hours before my parents left for the airport, giving me no time to do so much as rub one out in the comfort of an empty house. Myrna had a funny way of showing affection– she really didn't– and told me she'd respect my privacy as long as I let her watch her shows. Once my parents were gone and she was on official babysitting duty, she assumed her spot in front of the TV set with a blue Gatorade and a bag of yogurt-covered pretzels. I drank a beer and packed my bag for the week.

In the morning, Ezra picked me up for work. My hickies had faded into marks that could've been mistaken for a spotty rash, but we both knew the truth. Ezra, however, didn't point them out no matter how long his gaze lingered on my neck. "You listen to those mixes yet?" he asked me.

I held up my computer bag. "Imported every CD to my laptop so I can listen to them in times of need... like, when you snore so loud I can hear you in the living room." He smirked. At a red light, his hand twitched as though he considered reaching out to grab mine.

During my first day of work in the back, I learned that the only thing Ryan loved more than uncomfortable high fives and fist bumps was being in a position of power. Unfortunately, as his honorary ward, I was forced to witness the inflation of his already massive ego as he took me through the motions of a day in the life of a stockroom worker. I was tasked with holding all his clipboards, pens, boxes, vegetables, and other miscellaneous items that he simply had _no_ room for in his empty hands while he spewed fifty percent relevant job information and fifty percent unnecessary opinions.

"This is where the real work happens," he kept saying. "This ain't your cash register pussy shit. This is where your balls drop, girlie."

I started to keep a mental catalogue of all the stupid shit he said so I could relay it to Ezra and Lynette later. Whenever Ryan turned his back, I tried to perfect his obnoxious, self-assured cadence so I could mock him with precision: _this-ain't-yer CASH REGister pussy-SHIT. This-is-WHERE-yer BALLS dro-P, girLIE._ Every so often Ezra would pass by, hear something Ryan said, and exchange amused glances with me.

In spite of Ryan's insufferable attitude, I wanted to keep my insane cash flow, well, _flowing_ , so I made him think we were hitting it off with affirming nods and a Yes Man attitude. He got off on that shit, and by the end of my first shift in the back, he was inviting me out for drinks. "Gotta pick up where we left off last time we were at the bar, know what I'm sayin'?"

"Oh, yeah, that time," I murmured, stiffening. "How long did you end up staying that night, anyway?"

He pondered it for a second. "I was heading out the door while you were dishing out some funny joke about my dick." So, before I got sloppy with Ezra. Relief washed over me. "Me and the boys haven't been out since then, so we've been trying to get together. You in?"

"Who are 'the boys?' All the guys back here?" I asked.

"Archie, Beck, Jet... a couple others. Not everyone makes the cut," grunted Ryan. Ezra walked past, fingers tapping on his thigh. I looked at him, but he made a concentrated effort not to look back. Ryan lowered his voice. "For example, _he_ is not part of the boys."

"Wow, Ryan. Here I thought you liked Ezra."

"He's fine. He's just a shady little fuck. Don't get why Nadia wants to bone him." Clearly, that fact was no secret after all. "Plus if he went out with us guys, he'd probably just wanna stick it in us. You get me?" Ryan grinned, but I felt horrified. Then he bent down, grabbed some sort of wrapper from off the floor, and handed it to me. "Throw that out."

As soon as I got to the registers, I described the interaction to Lynette, who reacted by taking the gum out of her mouth and extending it to me. "Hey, little bitch, mind tossing this out for me even though I'm not doing anything remotely important?" I stuck my tongue out at her. She jammed the wad on the underside of her counter.

"Honestly, who even likes that guy?" I grumbled.

She shrugged as she unwrapped a new piece of gum. "He just likes to act tough. Back when I started working here, he was such a softie to me. That changed when I brought my ex to the holiday party."

"Figures."

"Some people are friendly with him, though. Maybe out of fear he'll bring a gun to work– actually, now that I think about it, I think Nadia genuinely likes him. Oh, hey, there's your girlfriend!" Lynette pointed toward Sonja Rapp, who was perusing our selection of teas.

I shushed Lynette, but the sound of my hiss alerted Sonja, and she turned her head toward me. Our eyes connected for a second of intensely awkward eye contact. Feeling uncomfortable, I fiddled with my cash register until I heard someone approaching my lane.

"Missing something?" asked Ezra. He was holding my phone and smirking.

"Oh, shit, didn't realize it was gone," I muttered as he handed it to me. "Thanks. I have precious dick pics on there."

"I thought I told you to delete those after you were done," he bantered.

"But you worked so _hard_ on them!" I said, keeping the joke rolling. "I need more time to properly appreciate their beauty."

Ezra put a hand on his hip and narrowed his eyes. "Well, I guess I do kind of owe you since I made your neck look like a war zone."

My jaw dropped. I couldn't piece words together. "I... yeah, yeah you–"

"Oh my _God_ , 'Lo," Lynette groaned loudly. "Quit flirting and cash this poor girl out."

Sonja was standing behind Ezra with two items and a shriveled expression. I let out a single, nervous chuckle as Ezra put his earbuds in. "See you later, Hot Cashier Boy," he said, making me burn with red-hot embarrassment. Basking in smugness, he walked away, and I rang up the boxes of tea at the speed of light.

Lynette leaned over to me after Sonja scurried out of the store. "Did 'Ra share any of that with you, or..."

"Share– huh?"

"His alcohol." I shot her a puzzled look. "Oh, come on, you must've figured out he's been drinking."

"You think just 'cause he's in a good mood at work, he must be drinking?"

"That, and he left a bottle of Jack out on the counter this morning."

I sighed. "Man, now I'm disappointed he _didn't_ share with me. Since when has he drank at work?"

Lynette shrugged and blew a huge bubble. I reached over and popped it.

Lynette and I stopped at the liquor store on our way to her apartment. "Should we ask Ezra what he wants?" I asked.

"He's probably napping. Or jacking it so he can last longer with you."

"What a gentleman." I paused. "Just to clarify, we're not fucking."

"I know," she replied, smiling. "I'd have heard it. No matter how hard he tries to be quiet, his squeaky bed always gives him away." She looked me up and down. "Besides, you're probably a screamer."

"For your information, I'm more of a grunter," I retorted. "And I thought he, uh, didn't like to hook up with people."

Lynette raised an eyebrow. "You jealous?"

"Hell no. _I_ was the type who hooked up with people."

She smiled knowingly. "There's only a couple times he's ever taken someone home. I never saw the guys he fucked. In and out, like a revolving door– I'm not sure if either time went well, 'cause he wouldn't say much in the morning." She nodded at the store's selection of wine. "Why don't we class it up tonight? Pick out something that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside." I found a bottle of Pinot Noir featuring a watercolor buck with huge antlers on the label. Lynette went with a Grillo from a winery called _Snowy Hill._

Ezra woke up from his nap when we got home, we started drinking soon after, then we discussed what to have for dinner. It was like dorming all over again, but with a proper kitchen and the ability to shit in peace. When Lynette left to have an "evening chat" with Millie– after copious amounts of phone sex jokes made at her expense, of course– I turned to Ezra.

"You know," I began, unsure of how to phrase what I wanted to say. "If you're gonna drink at work, the least you can do is share."

Ezra's expression remained unchanged. "I don't drink at work," he stated.

"Lynette seems to think you do."

"Lynette thinks a lot of things about me." He took a sip of his wine and smiled. "She think that 'cause I was joking with you at work?"

"Basically."

"Damn, that's cold. Even I have the ability to be in a good mood sometimes."

"But do you _really_?" I quipped. He smirked and shook his head a little.

After a few episodes of _Archer,_ Chinese take-out, and the destruction of both bottles of wine, Ezra and Lynette went to sleep. Tipsy and out of touch with time, I fired up my computer and listened to Ezra's mixes until I drifted off. I woke up to the sound of an alarm going off in the other room at five in the morning, then got ready while Ezra hit snooze three more times before rising.

Day two under Ryan's regime wasn't any better than the first. He expected me to remember everything he'd speedily explained the day previous, and whenever I fucked something up, he'd give me this subtly aggressive laugh that made my blood curdle. He liked calling me names, too, stuff that he found scathing: "princess," "fruit loop" and "Mila," to name a few. I wondered if this was his form of congenial hazing or straight-up workplace harassment.

"Good try, girlie," he said at one point, motioning to the box I'd picked up. "But you're wrong, as usual."

"What? Yesterday you said canned tomatoes were supposed to go by that wall–"

"Nah, I was lying. Potatoes are supposed to go over there."

I put the (admittedly heavy) box on the ground and looked at him. "That's definitely the canned tomatoes. I remember that."

"Wow, you really gonna trust yourself on this one? You've been getting shit wrong all day."

I sighed and rolled up my sleeves, then felt a hand on my shoulder. "He's fucking with you," whispered Ezra. I froze; there was a hint of something on his breath.

Ryan made a face. "C'mon, Ezra. Let the kid get bullied a little, it'll do him some good."

"Learning how to do his job the right way will also do him some good." He put earbuds in as Ryan looked down at the inventory sheet in his hand. When Ezra began to walk away, my eyes caught sight of something protruding from his pocket. It wiggled out with every step Ezra took, eventually falling to the floor with a _clank_.

Fight-or-flight mode took hold. In a slo-mo sequence straight out of _The Matrix_ , I saw myself in third person as I leapt in front of the flask and squatted in front of it, shoving the thing into my apron before Ryan had a chance to see.

"What was that?" he asked, sounding annoyed.

"Ezra dropped his phone," I said quickly. "I'll go return it."

"Shouldn't have a phone on him in the first place," said Ryan, the guy who I'd seen checking Facebook behind the freezers on multiple occasions.

Heart thumping, I zoomed over to Ezra, who hadn't seemed to notice his companion had gone missing. Instead of trying to speak to him over the din of his earbuds, I silently thrust the flask in front of his face. He nearly dropped the box he was holding. "Fuck," he breathed. Curling his lips into his teeth, he peered around the area to confirm no one was watching. He unscrewed the top of the flask and stood close to me, pushing it into my hands. This was his idea of a peace offering.

When I handed it back after a lengthy swig, he nodded, wordlessly inquiring if we were cool. I patted him on the back and walked away. I wasn't particularly hurt that he lied to me about drinking at work, just confused about _why_. I didn't know if he had an answer, either.

I started to regret taking the few drinks I'd been offered throughout the morning when Nadia crossed my path, looking irritated.

"Those dumb kids from Sunny Sel's Organics forgot to deliver an extra order of lemons. _Again_. Third week in a row," she snarled, arms folded tight over her chest.

Ryan snatched back the clipboard he'd made me hold and sidled up to her. "On a more positive note, they gave us an extra case of grapefruit for free."

Nadia glared. "I'd prefer the lemons."

"Right, of course," murmured Ryan, his voice reeking of atypical humbleness. I figured he was just being a brown-nosing fuck until Nadia sighed deeply and began to knead her shoulders, at which point he stepped behind her and took over the job himself. I raised an eyebrow.

"Today hasn't been the greatest," she lamented as Ryan massaged. "Had to get up early to take care of a tenant's latest plumbing accident–"

"The tenant who always smells like pot?"

"Yes, that one. Troublesome, a total kiss-ass, but never late with the rent."

"I guess that's what counts, huh?"

Ryan had been disarmed by Nadia's presence. I thought of how Lynette said Ryan was "a softie" when he had a thing for her, and I fought the urge to chuckle.

Suddenly I understood the source of Ryan's bitter preoccupation with Ezra. Ryan had a thing for Nadia, but Nadia liked Ezra, and all at once, the back room of Vita-Mart felt a lot like that time in middle school when I asked Lainey Stevenson to the homecoming dance, but she wanted to go with the jerkiest kid in the eighth grade instead. Not that I was still sour or anything; unlike Ryan, who carried envy on his back like an unseasonably heavy coat, and glared at Ezra as he walked by– even though Ezra's blurry eyes only crossed paths with mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for reading! Updates might be a little more spaced out than usual because I just got a new job & moved cross-country, so I'm sorry in advance for any delays. Once I get my living situation squared away, my stories should be updated regularly again.
> 
> I'm thinking of doing a Q&A if anyone has any questions about me/my stories/etc, so think up stuff you might wanna ask my boring ass. Anyway, thanks again for reading, reviewing, following, and all that! I'm so grateful!


	13. Aisle 13: Black Holes

A blurry-eyed Ezra was waiting for me when I returned to the apartment that afternoon. "Hey," I said. He grunted as he rummaged through the pantry. I walked over to the kitchen and leaned on the counter. "How was your nap?"

Ezra shrugged as he poured Lucky Charms into a bowl. The yellow-tinted overhead light accentuated dark circles beneath his eyes. He rarely seemed older than I was– twenty-seven seemed like such an drastic number to me– but in that moment, I was very aware of his age. He didn't speak as he mechanically went through the motions of getting milk for his cereal.

"Are you alright?" I asked after a great deal of silence.

"Yes." He sounded annoyed.

"You sure?" For a split second, his narrowed gaze flickered up to me. "Geeze, nevermind," I mumbled, taken aback by his attitude. "Fuck me for being concerned, I guess."

"Nothing to be concerned about," he stated. He went to take a spoon out of the silverware drawer, but the utensil slipped out of his grip and fell to the floor. He cursed through his teeth.

I picked at my fingernails as Ezra ate Lucky Charms in deliberate silence. It felt like I'd been transported back in time to when I started at Vita-Mart and he refused to give me the time of day. "So, you take a vow of silence or something?" I asked. He glared at me over his bowl. "Guess so."

"We can't all be rays of fucking sunshine," he said through a mouthful of cereal.

"Yeah, I guess some of us feel the need to be actual black holes," I shot back. "By the way, you're welcome for saving your ass at work today."

"I didn't need saving."

"Oh, yeah, because Ryan _definitely_ wouldn't take any excuse to get you fired, right?" I said sarcastically.

Like a teenager that was sick of his mom's pestering, he rolled his eyes and started to walk to his room. However, his march of angst was interrupted by a knock at the door. He sighed as he begrudgingly set down his cereal.

"Hey!" Ezra exclaimed as he answered the door, a familiar brightness to his voice. "I forgot 'Nette mentioned you might come through."

"Ez, let me tell you, some days I'm not sure if I'm her brother or her personal shopper," said Vinny, entering the apartment with a few grocery bags on his arms. "I told her I was coming up and she was like, 'great, I'm out with Mills, so can you grab some food for dinner tonight?' Oh, hey, Milo. Didn't see you there." I waved, pulse climbing.

Ezra crossed his arms. "She's ridiculous. I could've ran out to buy stuff instead." _While you're in this shitty of a mood? Yeah right,_ I thought bitterly.

"Psh, it's no big deal," Vinny said. "Besides, you need to save your arm strength for lifting ten-ton boxes of vegetables." He lightly pinched Ezra's forearm. Uncomfortable heat surged up my throat.

"So did you come into town for any special reason?" I blurted out, desperate to divert attention.

Vinny shrugged. "Just wanted to hang. But considering how our nights usually go, I figured we'd hit Rock Bottom." He smiled. Ezra smiled. I tried to force a smile. With the arrival of Vinny, Ezra's steely facade hid behind a sugar-coated surface, and I hated every ounce of positivity in his body.

Lynette came back soon after, too hopped up to think about making dinner with the ingredients Vinny brought home. Instead, she pushed us all into heading straight to the bar, promising to buy rounds of chicken wings and fries. She was in rare form, and after eventually admitting that Millie had ditched her to video chat with her overseas boyfriend, it all made sense. She made a couple solo bathroom trips within an hour at Rock Bottom. Before she could dive in for her third round, Vinny pulled her outside for a cigarette instead.

Ezra and I hadn't looked at each other all night. The moment we were left alone, he got up to order his third beer. I realized I was still nursing my first, chugged the rest, and followed him to the bar.

"Yes?" he huffed when he realized I was staring him down as we waited for our drinks.

"Just, you know, trying to get you to remember my existence."

He sighed and pushed his fingers against his forehead. "Trust me, I can't forget it."

"Aw, so you _do_ remember me."

Ezra scowled. "You're being annoying."

"And you're being a black hole again," I retorted. "You won't even look at me, but you're a 'ray of fucking sunshine' around Vinny. What gives?"

He looked down at his hands, watching his fingers curl and uncurl into his palm. "You should feel lucky I'm comfortable enough around you to show my real emotions." The bartender handed him a beer and he lumbered back to the table without another word.

I didn't pester Ezra after that, but as I seethed, I made it my unspoken goal to keep up with his pace of drinking. That night, he subtly downed drink after drink without fuss. I lost track of how many trips we made to the bar, and after what seemed like the hundredth, progressively more slurred "gimme another," I couldn't keep up with him and abandoned my plan.

If only to exacerbate things, every lighthearted drinking game we played only succeeded in fucking Ezra over. He kept losing and being forced to chug beer faster than he already was. On the plus side, he was finally giving me flirtatious grins across the table; at the same time, Vinny's laughter seemed to get louder every time Ezra looked my way.

Eventually Lynette stumbled outside to take a phone call from Millie. Vinny left to– in his words– "chaperone her." He hadn't drank that much less than Ezra and I, and his complexion was considerably flushed.

"Hey," said Ezra as Vinny walked away. "C'mere. Unless you're afraid of being sucked into my _black hole_." He wiggled his fingers at me.

I took the seat that had formerly been Vinny's. "Oh my God, it's a miracle! The black hole has transformed into a massive ray of fucking sunshine."

" _Fuckin_ ' sunshine," Ezra murmured. "You're fuckin' sunshine." His words weren't connecting with his expression. It was almost like he didn't know what he was saying.

"I'm fucking sunshine? Nah, I wouldn't fuck the sun," I wisecracked.

"But you'd fuck black holes."

"Ha." The single, nervous chuckle spilled out on its own.

Ezra swiveled around in his chair until his body was turned completely toward me. "You know I'm right."  
  
"You don't have proof," I said, feeling very warm as he put his hand on my shoulder.

"We'll see about that." And then he leaned in like he was going to kiss me. I closed my eyes.

In retrospect, I could've taken the responsible route that night and asked him what was wrong, why he was drinking so much so fast. But back then I didn't know how to handle the darkness within him. I just saw it as one of his quirks, one of his beautiful imperfections. And I was preparing to kiss him back twice as hard as he'd kiss me before a laugh jolted us from our cocoon of public passion.

"Look who _finally_ showed up!" Lynette cried as she skittered to the table, yanking on a meek-faced Millie's arm. "And we just took this adorable selfie– me, Mills, and Vinny, I mean– oh my God, you gotta see it–"

"Hey, Millie," I said.

"Hey," she said, not giggling through her greeting like she usually did. In fact, she looked downright uncomfortable.

Vinny shook a pack of Camel Crushes and peered down at the table, silently suggesting a smoke break. I followed Vinny toward the exit, but Ezra headed in the opposite direction, pushing through a group of balding men with Lynette and Millie in tow.

"Where were they going?" I asked as Vinny and I walked outside.

"Something about taking a picture or something, I don't know, 'Nette's been on a selfie kick lately. How are you faring, Milo? You seem pretty tipsy."

I studied his rosy cheeks and blurry eyes. "You're not looking so sober yourself."

"Oh, absolutely not."

"I appreciate the honesty."

He handed me a cigarette. I handed him a dollar. "What do you think about Millie?" he asked.

"She's nice," I said after a pause. "Quiet. Quieter when she's not fucked up. But she's always been sweet to me."

Vinny nodded slowly. "I'm worried about 'Nette. She does this a lot."

"Does what?"

"She throws her whole self into infatuations. Know what I'm saying? She gets obsessed with girls too fast, then freaks out when it doesn't go exactly as planned." He lit his cigarette before tossing the lighter to me. "Jesus, this one's got a boyfriend– I can't see it going well."

"It is complicated, but I dunno, anything could happen," I told him.

"You think she'll leave the other guy for 'Nette?" he inquired. I pursed my lips and tilted my hand back and forth. "So I have a reason to be worried."

"Don't worry too much. 'Nette–" My breath caught on the single syllable. "Er, she'll get through it, no matter what happens."

Vinny chuckled, cigarette poised picturesquely between his fingers. "It's always complicated with a third person in the mix, isn't it?"

His comment brought back memories of Phoebe Linclun from eleventh grade, who boldly proclaimed to her boyfriend that she wanted to date me as well as him. I was flattered, but also freaked out at the prospect of indirectly swapping spit with another guy, so I turned down the offer to join their relationship. Thinking back on it, Phoebe and her boyfriend were both pretty attractive, and I could've had some brag-worthy sexual experiences if I'd agreed to it.

Deep down, I knew any seemingly strange relationship could work out, but Vinny's words struck a chord that resonated with my fifteen-year-old self. "Yeah, it is complicated," I said as my throat tightened.

Vinny looked over at me, holding the cigarette close to his mouth. "You've never been in a situation like that, have you? With three people?"

"Well–"

"And no, I don't mean a threesome."

"Oh, shit, caught me there," I said, laughing as I rolled my eyes.

"Hope I did."

He said it in such a hushed tone, it was as though he didn't expect me to hear it. I pretended not to, though my mind raced as I tried to decipher his implications. We smoked in silence until he spoke again. "You still spending the night at my sister's place?"

"Why? You wanna fight me for the couch?" I joked.

"No. I thought you'd be sleeping in Ezra's room."

I inhaled too much smoke and started coughing. "No, no," I managed to choke out. "There's no... nowhere to sleep in there."

Vinny opened his mouth, but seemed to change his statement at the last second. "Right. My mistake."

I laughed my way through the discomfort. "Man, Vinny. You're really convinced Ezra and I are a _thing_."

While adjusting his posture, he smiled. "I just haven't seen any evidence that points to the contrary." The way he spoke bordered on aggressive, but didn't dare to step over the line.

Some magical truth serum must have been seeping from his mouth, because I felt a hot rush of embarrassment burn in my face as he blew smoke at the night sky. "The hickies," I blurted out. Vinny didn't even look shocked by my exclamation, he just kept smoking as I fumbled with my words. "They were bad, weren't they? I didn't see those little shits until I got in my house, but they were so fucking bad–"

"He has a knack for that, doesn't he?"

I blinked. "Huh?"

"Giving hickies. I swear, when he's drunk, he turns into a vampire." Vinny bared his teeth and hissed.

"He, uh, gave you hickies that one time you guys made out?" I emphasized "one time" purely by accident.

Vinny took a drag. "Yeah. In high school." He put out his cigarette and tossed the butt. "I'm glad Ezra has you," he continued. "I can see that he's going through a rough patch. I think he needs someone."

Personally, I had a theory that Ezra's whole life was a rough patch, but I nodded anyway. "Yeah, I get what you're saying, but we're not like… _together_."

"Ah, avoiding labels is the hip, new thing, right?" I uttered a noise of disagreement. Vinny laughed. "I'm only kidding, Milo. But Jesus, you're getting pretty fucking red…"

"Only 'cause you're teasing the shit out of me," I whined.

"I've had years of practice as an older sibling. Teasing comes out naturally at this point." He elbowed me playfully, then leaned on the door leading into Rock Bottom. "Ready to dive back in?"

I sighed and doused my cigarette. "Sure, as long as you're done with your… older sibling sass."

"I'll step off. Just one more thing, Milo," he said. Then he smirked, fire smoldering behind his eyes. "If you end up spending the night in Ezra's room, I'd appreciate an invitation."

Blood drained from my cheeks. I nodded, expression devoid of emotion. Vinny shepherded me into the bar as my stomach turned, smugness etched into his face.


	14. Aisle 14: Disclosure

Goosebumps refused to fade from my arms despite the mugginess of the bar. _Vinny still wants to bang Ezra,_ I thought as I peed, squinting at the urinal under the harsh fluorescent lights. _Or does he want to bang me? Or both of us? He could've been joking, but…_ I thought of his self-assured smirk. _I don't think he was._

Without warning, the door to the men's room burst open. I somehow recognized Ezra by the sound of him blowing chunks into the sink.

"Hey– what the fuck are you– Ezra!" I cried as I struggled to pull up my zipper.

He used one hand to wave me away while the other gripped the edge of the sink. I ushered him into a stall. His knees seemed to give way beneath him as I locked the stall door, and he continued puking into the correct receptacle.

"Damn," I whispered as I grabbed a handful of his hair that threatened to get caught in the crossfire. "You went hard tonight, buddy."

A thick trail of saliva burst from his mouth as he laughed. "Fuck yeah," he mumbled, lacking annunciation. "Fuck yeah. I mean, it's that time of year."

"What, September?"

Ezra managed to laugh one more time before being silenced by forthcoming vomit. I remained holding his hair, finally realizing why no one in the rugby house lined up to help the pretty girls who got sick at our parties.

Eventually Ezra let out a pained " _uhguh_ " and propped his elbows up on the toilet seat. I took this as a sign of surrender and leaned against the stall. I stared at him for a few seconds, tracing every deepening line on his face with my eyes.

 _Bzzt. Bzzt._ "Fuck." Ezra's fingers fumbled to grab his phone out of his back pocket, then he sloppily pushed the device into my hands. "Take it. But don't answer it."

"Why not?"

"'Cause he does this every year. Every year. Don't answer it. I don't want to hear his shit again– _hhnph_ – " Ezra's head went back in the toilet. Obeying his wishes, I pocketed the phone and resumed my position of Official Hair Holder.

"Ezra's not feeling well," I announced to the rest of the group as Ezra cleaned himself up in the bathroom. "I think he should go home. I'll take him."

Vinny looked at me funny. "But Ez never gets sick–" Lynette nudged her brother and whispered something in his ear. His expression softened immediately. "Er, yeah, I guess he should go back."

"Secrets? Really?" I said scornfully. "What the fuck can't I know about my own friend?"

Lynette, with eyes dancing in their sockets, laid both of her hands on my shoulders. "It's a bad day for 'Ra. _Reeal_ bad. Trust me. Just get him home safe. We'll do the dancing for both of you." She winked and turned away, then a second later, whipped back around to face me. "And even though I'm pretty sure Ezra's too lifeless to manage an erection, don't you two _dare_ even _think_ about entering my room." Then she kissed my cheek and whisked Millie away to the jukebox.

•

Ezra had been boiled down to a less-than-solid state, indicated by the fact that he couldn't stay on his feet for more than two minutes at a time and I was forced to call a cab to get us back. There was no stability present in his humorless laugh, his discordant speech, the distant twinkle in his eye whenever he looked at me. It was like he ached to reach out for help, but had forgotten how to ask.

"You can leave me," he kept saying as I poured him into bed. "You can– you should leave me and go… go to bed. I'm fine on my own, okay? I'm almost sober."

"Sorry dude, but judging by the fact that you backed up the sink in the Rock's bathroom with puke, I think you're far from sober. Drink some water." He pouted as I handed him a glass. "Drink some water _for me_." Reluctantly, he held it to his lips. Half the water dribbled down his chin and dampened the bedsheets. I smirked as I took the glass from him. "I didn't expect the whole 'for me' argument to work, but…"

"Shut up," he grumbled through his teeth. "You're not special."

"Really? I dunno about that, Ez." It took me a second to realize why his eyes got wide. "Er, Ezra," I corrected myself, heartbeat quickening. "I don't know why I said– I'm not gonna start calling you that–"

_Bzzt. Bzzt._

My gaze shot down to Ezra's phone. I couldn't catch a glimpse of the name on the screen before he snatched it up. "H'llo," he muttered, voice devoid of emotion. The frown on his lips increased the more the person on the other line talked.

"Ezra," I whispered, making sure I clearly said both syllables. "Who is–"

He pushed the phone to my ear, forcing me to hold it. I was about to mouth expletives at him before I heard the slobbering voice on the other end. "–know it's not the best circumstances, but it's all I can do–"

I pulled the phone away and gave Ezra a bewildered look. He rolled on his side. "Listen to his schpeal for me, will you? Just this once. Don't say anything, just listen. Do this one thing for me, and then I'll… I'll drink all the water you want me to." He yawned. "All for you, baby."

"' _Baby_ ,'" I mocked him.

"You heard me."

It was a combination of curiosity and the new term of endearment that brought Ezra's phone back to my ear. "–don't expect you to say anything. You never do." The man's tone was gruff but fragile, like a single noise from my mouth would've shattered him completely. His words melded together in a way I recognized. "I just… I wanted to say you were right."

I shot a look at Ezra, whose eyelids threatened to close. He didn't seem worried.

"It was me," the voice continued, his cadence still overwhelmingly familiar. "I'm man enough to say it now, Ezra, it was me. The stress of my… our _shitty_ marriage, that's why it happened, why she…" The sentence dissolved. "When you accused me, I was too proud to admit it. I was blinded by anger… but you were right, weren't you? You were right. I did it to her, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything, God– God _dammit_ , I'm so sorry." I heard him move the receiver so he could sob. I'd been gripping my thigh so hard, it was changing colors. "Please, if you could say something… anything at all… Jesus, you can tell me to shut up, I'd understand, I'd get it… Please, Ezra…"

The man's mannerisms prompted me to respond before I could think it through. "I need some time." My voice shook as I attempted to match Ezra's pitch. I hastily hung up.

Ezra shot up in bed, an ounce of clarity breaking through his fog. "What the fuck," he hissed. "What the fuck, why would you– you're not _me_ , why would you fucking– I _told_ you not to talk to him!"

"I couldn't not, c'mon, he sounded heartbroken."

"Yeah, he sounds that way every fucking year! And he should!" Ezra's voice was strained, almost scared. "And you… you _idiot_ , you talked back to him, like you _knew_ or something–"

"I'm– I don't know– Who–"

"Damn fucking _right_ you don't know! That's why I said– didn't I tell you not to say anything to him? It just encourages him! Shit, you dumbass!"

"But that guy… he told me something, just listen–"

"No, fuck you, you didn't do what I told you to! Why should I listen–"

"Because I _care_ about you, asshole!" I said it loud, loud enough to shut him up. He peered up at me with repentant doe-eyes. "Who called you?"

"My dad."

"Okay, well– wait, your dad?" He nodded slowly. "Ezra, he seemed really sad about something."

"He always does. Every fuckin' year."

"What was he talking about?" Ezra didn't say anything, he just folded his arms over his chest and sank into his mattress. "Dude, for-fucking-real, just tell me, 'cause he kept apologizing about something."

Ezra scoffed. "'Apologizing.' Give me a fuckin' break. He's not sorry for jack shit."

"You didn't hear the way he sounded."

"And you didn't know him as a kid."

"Duh. Maybe if you explained something for once, I'd understand what the fuck is going on."

He seemed to consider it for a second. "No."

"God, you're such a dick," I mumbled, rising to my feet.

He bolted up in bed. "You don't know what he did. You have no idea."

"Fucking _tell_ me then!" I exclaimed, throwing my arms out with drunken vigor. "You say all these vague-ass comments and expect me to just _get_ them, but I don't. You have to tell me– which apparently is the hardest thing in the world for you– goddammit, I'm asking to help, why don't you just let me in?"

As his guarded expression turned to dust, I thought I had him; but a second later, a self-assured smirk split his face in two. "Why bother if you're just gonna leave?"

"Leave," I repeated, dumbfounded. "Leave to go where?"

"Back to whatever dumb college you came from." His intensity increased as he talked. "Whatever dumb, shitty, stupid, dickfaced college that spat you out so you could meet me and fuck with me just to crawl back to its puke-filled streets again. You're gonna _leave_ , and I'm gonna laugh when you wave goodbye with crocodile tears pouring down your face, 'cause I won't feel sad, since I never let you in when you asked. When I lose you, I'm not… I won't lose any part of me. I won't."

"Ezra, I'm not–"

"I _won't_!"

He leapt to his feet, wobbled on his heels, but his expression remained firm, unforgiving. With balled fists at his sides, I realized I was encountering a new Ezra, one who hadn't shown his face yet. Ezra, protecting himself before anyone else. Ezra, with a past that never involved me. Ezra, striking fear into my chest.

Silence pulsated as we stared at each other. A chill in the air crept up the back of my neck.

"Okay," I said, voice breaking. "I'm going to leave you alone."

"Fucking leave, then."

Obediently, I turned toward the door and stalled as long as I could, waiting for Ezra to stop me, until I saw the door handle turn on its own.

A panicked-looking Vinny tumbled into the room. "Were you guys yelling?" His sentence was barely discernible past drunken gurgling. "I could hear it down the hall– shit, Ez, you– she reminded me– 'Nette reminded me about what happened, about what today is–"

" _Get out_ ," Ezra barked at me, making Vinny jump.

"On my fucking way," I murmured. Though my skin boiled with anger, I took a moment to turn to Vinny. "By the way, here's that invitation you wanted," I mused, my even tone contrasting with the tension in the room. "Have fun."

Vinny laughed nervously. Ezra's expression didn't change. I slammed the door behind me and flopped down on the couch face-first, eyes colliding with a throw pillow, stomach hitting the floor. I was drunk enough to want to cry, but not sober enough to stay awake to do so. My consciousness faded in time with the ebb and flow of conversation in the next room, the conversation I ached to have a part in.

•

Lynette told me a story about Vinny once. "It was at his high school grad party, and he was leaving for college the next day. I was sad, so naturally, I was incredibly drunk," she told me in classic Lynette style. "We started getting close when I got into high school, so I felt like I was losing him too soon. Prematurely. Like he was too old for me all of a sudden."

Then she listed off all the vodka-soaked mixed drinks and shots she downed within an impressively small period of time for a fifteen-year old. She paused to add, "as I said, I was incredibly drunk."

She told me about the moment she knew she was hammered, the moment that scared her because for the first time since Vinny announced he was going away to school, she wanted to cry. So she did what any angsty teenager would do: she grabbed a handle of vodka and took off for the woods to sob and drink without scrutiny.

She'd just found a quiet, concealed spot when she heard sniffling. To her surprise, she found Vinny propped up against a tree, head buried in his arms.

"I fucked up," Vinny whined as they passed the bottle back and forth. "I kissed Ezra, and I shouldn't have. 'Nette, I'm such an idiot. How was I the only kid in the family who got the stupid gene?"

Lynette, feeling drunk– er, _incredibly_ drunk– and in shock her brother had kissed another boy, completely misinterpreted the "stupid gene" statement. Tactlessly, she blurted out an emphatic, "I'm gay too."

That, of course, wasn't what Vinny meant. Lynette described his reaction like she had a photograph of it on her wall: "His eyes got impossibly big, like, I thought they were gonna fall out of his face. Then his mouth dropped open, but he didn't say anything. I'd dumbfounded him, swear to God. All I could do was laugh and wait for him to pick his jaw up off the ground. And when he did, shit, he wouldn't shut up, rambling like an idiot."

At the time, I couldn't visualize what Lynette had described to me. Vinny looking " _dumbfounded_?" It didn't line up with the image of him in my head. But when I woke up on Ezra's couch with remnants of drunkenness clinging to my brain, the first thing I saw was that very awestruck face.

Vinny looked unrecognizable as he stood, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at the door, keys hanging from his hand. "Milo, I want to apologize," were the first words out of his mouth. "I was an idiot last night. Too much alcohol too fast– well, that's no excuse. I shouldn't have said those things no matter how drunk I was. I want you to know I was just joking about the whole thing. That's all."

He kept talking but I waved my hand. I felt nauseated by his voice. Though I was impressed he had the gall to confront me, I also knew that the car keys in his grip meant he'd tried to sneak out before I woke up.

In an attempt to avoid Ezra, I walked to work in a half-drunk, half-hungover stupor. I blared one of his playlists in my headphones– _Hungover and Hating Life_ – and tried not to connect every lyric between the way he felt when he made the playlist and the way I felt as I trudged through the chilly, fog-ridden morning toward Vita-Mart, teeth chattering. I didn't want to feel like him– I _couldn't_ feel like him– but I kept relating to the lyrics I heard, and therein laid the problem.

 _You don't have to leave, you can just stay here with me,_ sang a girl with the kind of voice I used to hear in daydreams. _We can find comfort in debauchery…_

Ezra was scared of me leaving. He'd said it– albeit in a fucked-up stupor– but he'd said it, and from that moment on, I'd never forget. From that moment on, I was responsible for his fear.

My stomach turned. Despite how much I liked the melody of the tune, I pressed skip. The lyrics of the next song weren't much better: _Sometimes it's the ones who try to help that hurt the most…_

A car horn beeped directly to my left. I jumped and whipped my head toward the source. The passenger side door of Ezra's car was hanging open as it idled on the curb, and his body was strewn across the center console like he'd just thrown it open. We locked eyes. I expected– wanted– more pain to show in his, so I kept walking despite the goosebumps on my arms.

I heard him groan over the din of my music. "This is embarrassing," he said louder. "I was gonna–" The song picked up volume. He beeped again. I yanked my headphones off.

"Yes?" I said it in a tone so falsely sweet, Splenda would've been jealous.

"I planned on saying sorry!" he exclaimed, still leaning toward the passenger's seat. "I was gonna apologize before we even got in the car to go to work, okay? But you were gone when I got up. Guess you had to be stubborn and let yourself freeze to death– what's it, like, thirty-five degrees?"

"So?"

"You're wearing fucking cargo shorts!"

The wind picked up. A full-body shiver nudged me into the car.

After I climbed into the passenger's seat, the vehicle continued to idle. "We're gonna be late for work," I stated bluntly.

"I'll start driving when you look at me." I peered at Ezra for a split second. "I'm sorry."

"Neat."

Ezra sighed. The car lurched forward. His hands, I noticed, were unsteady, and his eyes jumped around the road. He was riding off the last of his drunkenness straight into the start of a vicious hangover. Definitely worse off than I was.

"Yesterday wasn't a one-off occurrence," he began calmly. "It's an annual shitshow, and yes, I should've told you sooner. It was the anniversary of the day my mom died." My pulse quickened. I opened my mouth to offer condolences, but he kept talking. "Don't say you're sorry or whatever, there's no reason. I honestly wasn't that close to her anyway– fuck, I've never been close to either of my parents. The only reason my dad calls me every year is to see if I've forgiven him yet. Because I, uh, kind of blamed him for causing the heart attack that killed my mom." He swallowed hard as he came to a red light. I wanted to touch him, to let him know that I cared without words, but he was staring straight ahead as though he was trying to forget I was there. "They had a rocky marriage for as long as I can remember, always yelling and screaming and kicking each other out– but they stayed together to raise me, and they were too fucking hard-headed to figure out a divorce. When I went off to school, they finally planned on splitting for good, but my mom died before that happened. And then I got angry, so _fucking_ angry, thinking… _knowing_ the stress of their marriage had gotten to her. And I– being an idiot– told my dad I blamed him for what happened to my mom.

"He cut me out of his life after that, and he stopped helping me pay for school, and that's part of the reason I wanted to drop out– because I couldn't bare the thought of being boxed in by loans for the rest of my life. I wanted to be a writer, an actual writer, and I refused to work a shit job to pay off the college degree that was supposed to get me the _real_ job I wanted…" He was out of breath and out of steam. It sounded like he'd never voiced these feelings out loud, and judging by the bitter smile on his face, he didn't expect to be telling anyone, let alone me.

"Remember, you asked for me to be honest with you. So don't say anything sappy or stupid," he said when he saw my mouth open.

"I wasn't going to," I assured him. "I was just gonna ask if Vita-Mart was the kind of shit job you were trying to avoid."

Ezra laughed softly. "Now you see why I'm such a shitbag all the time."

"Not all the time, just sometimes. Like last night. Did you do coke?"

"Huh?"

"Did you do coke with Lynette and Millie?" I asked. "You went off with them and came back all sorts of fucked up– though Lynette told me you don't do drugs when you drink…"

Ezra groaned. "Like I said. Annual shitshow." He pulled into a parking spot in front of Vita-Mart.

I nodded. "For what it's worth," I started cautiously, "I'm sorry about your mom. And your, well, family situation." Though he shrugged like it was no big deal, I saw an appreciative smile forming. "But your dad did say something on the phone that you might want to know–"

"Not now." Ezra grabbed a bottle of Advil out of his cupholder. "Not ever, probably."

"Seriously, though it's…" He shook his head and put a finger to his lips, then offered me the bottle. I surrendered and poured two pills into my palm. "Got anything to wash this down?"

I looked over at Ezra in time to see him chase the pills with a long swig from a flask. "Hair of the dog," he suggested as he handed it to me. My still-drunk side made me smirk as I swallowed the capsules with a little help from Jack Daniel. The hungover side of me screamed in agony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading as always! :) And thank you for being patient with the rate of release of these chapters!
> 
> It's Q&A time! Ask me any & all questions in a review/private message. I'll respond to (most of the) questions in the author's notes of the next few chapters. (Basically, just keep asking questions and I'll probably get to them eventually.) Have fun y'all~ You guys are the best!


	15. Aisle 15: Public & Private

"How many more times are you going to ask if we slept together?" Ezra asked as he leaned against the freezer. "'Cause the answer's not changing."

"I know, I know, but–"

"For the record, that answer is still _no_."

"But, like, the way Vinny was acting..."

Ezra sighed. "Okay, let me visually show you how ridiculous you sound. Here's right now." He held up one index finger. "And _heeeere_ 's what happened in high school." He placed his other index finger right beside the first one.

"Isn't that proving my point?"

"Nope. See, the events that transpired in high school are so goddamn far in the past, my visual representation just stretched around the entire Earth before coming back to this very spot."

I rolled my eyes. "Dramatic."

"I'm telling you, I should've made a go of it in Hollywood." He took a quick look around, then pushed the flask into my hands.

We'd been drinking all morning. It helped my hangover while simultaneously making reality feel like a fever dream. Ryan had been in and out of Nadia's office all day– "official Vita-Mart business," he'd told me with an eye-roll inducing smirk– and was too distracted to notice my flushed cheeks and unsteadiness.

"What d'you think Nadia's talking to Ryan about? Besides _official Vita-Mart business_ ," I said in a mocking tone.

Ezra stroked his chin. "Probably describing, in great detail, every fantasy she's ever had about me."

"Oh, of _course,_ " I mused. "That's a professional way to talk to your employee."

"Well, one time she got drunk and said to Louise–"

"That she thought about you while she fucked her ex."

He sighed. "Lynette already told you, huh?"

"Naturally. How'd you react when you found out?"

"A compliment is a compliment."

"So you're saying you'd totally bone her."

Ezra folded his arms over his chest. "There's a difference between enjoying attention from someone and wanting to fuck them," he explained, narrowing his eyes. "Nadia's good-looking, that's just a fact. But considering my sexual desire for females is practically zero, I don't want to– in your words– _bone_ her. I mean, it's not any different from how you got all hot and bothered when Lynette kissed you."

I had difficulty swallowing. "Like, uh, how?"

"You thought she was attractive… hence that stupid nickname, ' _Hot Cashier Girl.'_ But you wouldn't have tried anything physical with her, right?" He took a drink, but his eyes stayed on me, awaiting my answer.

 _Actually, I wanted nothing more than for her to sit on my face in the middle of the employee party,_ I thought as my stomach turned. Instead of being honest, I shook my head. I didn't want to have this conversation now, later, or ever.

"Even though I'm never gonna hook up with Nadia, she's still easy on the eyes. And really, can you blame her for falling victim to my charms?" he joked. When he tried to sip from the flask, some whiskey dribbled down his chin. It reminded me of the water he spilled on his sheets. _All for you, baby_ , echoed in my head.

"I guess she's turned on by men who lack coordination," I said, ignoring my quickening pulse. Ezra stuck out his tongue, then grabbed my sleeve to wipe his face. "Hey!" I protested through chuckles. "I'm gonna reek…"

"Better you than me," Ezra muttered into the fabric. He picked his head up, hand still holding my sleeve, and grinned. His grip was tight and dominating. As his lips hovered inches from mine, the warmth between us made my throat feel tight. I was paralyzed. _Dumb, dumb face,_ my hazy brain repeated. _He's got such a dumb face, I can't stand it._ This was classic Milo Code, translation: "I have a burning desire to either punch or kiss the person in front of me."

Before I could do either though, we heard Ryan push his way in from the front. I jumped away from Ezra.

"Princess Mila!" Ryan called across the aisles that towered between us and him.

"Yes, sir?" I said in a sing-song voice while I pantomimed hanging myself.

"Daily checklist still needs to be done."

Ezra tugged on the back of my shirt as I walked away, then handed me the flask. "You're gonna need it," he whispered.

I downed enough to make me gag. Ezra concealed the flask and handed me a piece of gum from the pocket of his apron. I'd just unwrapped it when Ryan strolled the corner. "Milo, you–" He stopped and sighed when he laid eyes on Ezra. "Shoulda known. Girls, quit gossiping and get your asses into gear, will ya?"

"Yeah, Milo," Ezra scolded. "Gear up your _ass_." My whole body shook as he smacked his hand across my butt.

I let out a reflexive chuckle. Ryan almost dropped his clipboard out of shock. " _Ezra_ ," he hissed, looking uncomfortable.

"Relax. It's a sports thing," said Ezra. "Like, y'know, it's a way to say 'go get 'em' or 'good game.' You ever play sports, Ryan?"

"Yes," he replied immediately. "Lots."

"Then you should know better than anyone." Ezra smiled from ear to ear. For being drunk, he was sharp as a tack.

"Whatever," mumbled Ryan. When he glared at me, I realized I was mirroring Ezra's grin on my face. "As long as you two aren't jerkin' each other off in the storage closet or something." He turned on his heel and beckoned for me to follow.

"There's an idea," Ezra murmured just loud enough for me to hear before I walked away. Thinking he was kidding, I laughed to myself– but as the morning went on and we'd taken the last few sips from the flask, I walked in on Ezra rifling through the storage closet and instantly forgot what Ryan had sent me in to retrieve.

"What d'you need?"

I stared blankly at Ezra. He was holding a roll of masking tape. "Uh, scissors," I blurted out. "No– no, that's not what I needed. I needed… ugh… Ryan told me to get something and then sauntered away to go ' _brainstorm with Nadia_ ' and I think I was so busy making up jokes in my head that I forgot what it–"

I stopped talking when Ezra stepped closer to me. "Ryan's not in the back right now?"

"No," I said quietly, feeling warm. "He left–"

The masking tape clattered to the floor. I barely heard it over blood pounding in my ears as Ezra closed the space between us in a single, fluid motion; first his hand touched the nape of my neck, then moments later, his lips met mine. He lingered for half a minute before rushing to jam the doorknob with a step stool. I could feel a smirk in his kiss when he reached up and yanked the cord connected to a lightbulb on the ceiling. The closet went dark, save for a sliver of light filtering in beneath the door.

I'd had enough hook ups in cramped spaces to expect nothing but discomfort from making out in a closet. But I was so drunkenly numb, so high on adrenalin, and so unsure of what was about to happen that I ignored the boxes digging into my shins when Ezra pinned me against the shelves and pushed his chest to mine.

One of my hands gripped a shelf to keep my body upright. "Are there cameras in here?" I whispered.

Ezra shook his head. Strands of his hair brushed against my forehead. "They're outside the door. Nadia never checks them, anyway. You nervous?"

"Nah, too drunk. But I feel like I _should_ be."

"Relax," he hummed, fingers curling around my hips. "No one's gonna find us."

"Wow, it's almost like you've done this before."

"Can't say I've ever fooled around in this particular closet," he quipped. "But I _do_ have experience with keeping things private."

I grinned. "That so?"

He leaned in close and whispered, "try me."

I never thought any hook up could start with someone sexily untying a grocery store apron, but Ezra's hot breath on my neck made me believe in the impossible. The apron was cast onto a nearby shelf as Ezra's hands crawled up my shirt before he slid his fingers down, down, down.

Sober, I would've been losing my shit– _I'm Ten Girls In One Semester Milo, what the fuck am I doing?_ But drunk, it was natural to run my hand against Ezra's erection.

Fuck, it wasn't just natural. It was satisfying in ways I didn't know were possible. I watched Ezra, stone-cold Ezra, turn to liquid in the slat of light pouring in from outside the door. He wasn't the confident, theatrical, blowjob aficionado from Niagara Falls. He was finally in the palm of my hands, and every time his exhalations threatened to escalate into a moan, I gained more power over him. It pushed me so far to the edge that I was afraid of cumming from the moment his hand brushed across my dick. Pathetic, I know, but that was probably just what Ezra wanted from the beginning: he'd get me so riled up on being in control that I'd lose it all on my own.

"Shit," Ezra breathed as my hands inched beneath the waistband of his underwear. My fingers brushed against the tip of his dick. Ezra's grip on mine tensed. "You're so hot," he whispered into my ear. He began stroking with a tantalizing rhythm, and I tried to match it, but it was tough to keep my composure when every stroke felt irresistibly satisfying. "You're so hot, baby."

A shiver started in my toes and rushed between my legs. _Oh, fuck._ I made an unattractive gulping sound. "Ezra–"

The door handle jiggled and sent my stomach careening toward the floor. Ezra slowly retracted his hand while I froze in place, hand-on-dick, until the handle shook again and Ezra forcibly removed my fingers from around his penis.

The handle shook one more time as he and I raced to zip up our flies. We locked eyes, each hoping the other knew of a secret trap door that could lead us to safety– then three deafening knocks and a gruff, " _who the hell is in there?_ " indicated that our time was up.

Ezra acted first. He grabbed an item from a shelf as I snatched up my apron, then he unjammed the handle and opened the door on an irate Ryan.

"Woah, sorry, man!" Ezra puffed, looking apologetic. "That handle is sticky as shit."

"What? I've never–" Ryan clammed up when his beady eyes landed on me. And when I say _beady eyes_ I mean it, because I never knew what _beady eyes_ were until I met Ryan McCall. "The hell was going on in there?"

"I needed to get something we had in storage," said Ezra, sounding surprisingly articulate. "Because, y'know, it's a _storage_ closet."

Ryan peered down at the item in Ezra's grip. "You 'needed' a toilet scrubber?"

Ezra snuck a glance at his hand to confirm he'd actually panic-grabbed a scrubber from the closet. "Yepp. Toilets needed a good ol' fashioned rub-down. Er, scrub-down."

"Why are the lights off?"

"Conservation of electricity."

"Did you get some?"

It took a few seconds to realize Ryan was addressing me. "Uh– uhm– I– huh?"

"The paperclips I told you to grab for me. Did you get some?"

"Ye… no."

Ryan rolled his eyes and pushed past Ezra to point out the location of his precious paperclips. As he lectured me about listening to directions and not getting distracted and _blah blah fucking blah,_ my gaze drifted toward Ezra in the doorway. He stared back at me with a look that was equal parts _I'm so sorry_ and _no I'm not, that was awesome_.

•

"Techno? Were you sleeping or something?"

"Kind of." If a post-work, half-drunk pass out counted as sleeping. "What's up, Skeeter?"

"Let me start by saying that this is the dumbest call you're ever going to get."

"I don't know, that time Shortstop called to trick me into going to a rave in Syracuse probably tops the list."

"Don't count on it." I could practically hear the cringe in Skeeter's tone.

"Liking your optimism." I stretched, sitting up on the couch. After rubbing my eyes I could see Ezra strewn across the recliner beside me, feet dangling off one armrest, head lying on the other. He was sound asleep. I was pretty sure he hadn't been there when I nodded off.

"I'm calling to save you from the inquiring minds of the rest of the team," explained Skeeter.

"Ooh, this sounds dumb already."

"They were gonna try to trick you into dishing out some information, and they were being fucking childish about it, so I just said I'd ask you myself. But I'm not calling to trick you like _they_ wanted to do– that's ridiculous! I'm gonna ask you, straight up, no bullshit included…"

Ezra shifted onto his side. I smirked, knowing he could sleep through anything. "God, I forgot how much I've missed your pointless rambling, Skeets."

"Gee, thanks." Skeeter inhaled deeply. "Anyway, you know how the guys have hard-ons for your co-worker, right? That Lynette chick?"

"Can't forget it."

"Uh, they– not me, to be clear– _they_ like to stalk her Facebook from time to time."

"Mhm."

"And, well, they were stalking today and found a picture she posted last night."

"What, was she half-naked in it or something? Though she's not a stripper drunk as far as I know–"

"No, no, the shower drains in the rugby house would be clogged by now if that were the case. It was a selfie at a bar, there's a couple other people in it with her, but in the background…" He sighed. "Dude, just go on Facebook and look at it."

"But you're painting such a beautiful mental picture for me," I teased as I opened my laptop. "You're like Van Gogh for the brain."

"Great, I can add that to my resume. Are you looking at it?" He sounded tense.

The photo was indeed, in Lynette's words, 'adorable.' Lynette was red-faced and baring a toothy grin, her arms slung around Millie and Vinny's shoulders. Millie smiled meekly while Vinny simpered. It was clear he was the one snapping the picture, since it was taken from a high angle– high enough to get a clear look at a few tables behind their heads.

"Yeah, yeah. I kinda remember her talking about this picture last night. That's her brother and her… best friend," I said, adding in a dose of _no homo_ for no reason other than to save face with the guys.

"Are you looking at the background?"

I squinted at the screen. "There's a table full of empty bottles, two ugly fuckers grinding, some kid who doesn't look twenty-one who's sitting next to–" My eyes widened as they came across Ezra's face. "My co-worker. Oh, shit, that means _I'm_ the kid who doesn't look twenty-one."

Nowadays, I think the picture is crumpled up and stuck between my wall and my bed. Lynette printed it out and gave it to me; she told me to hang it up where everyone could see it because _it'll help you avoid lying about yourself ever again._ At first I was mad at her, but upon realizing I'd bought too much sticky tack after a drunken trip to Target, I hung it up by my bed. It grew on me until it fell off and got smushed between the mattress and the wall. I figure I'll leave it there for safekeeping– or until I'm motivated enough to fish it out.

In the photo, Ezra has one hand on my neck. The other hand isn't visible, but from the way my leg burns when I remember the moment, he must've been caressing my thigh. His forehead is pressed against mine. Even though the picture gets fuzzy, you can still see his smile. If you concentrate on my beet-red face, it's clear I'm not smiling back– my lips are pouted, like I'm waiting to be kissed.

"It was a joke," I spluttered to Skeeter. "Like, isn't it obvious? We saw Lynette was taking a picture, so we… we wanted to photobomb, you know? Ez… er, that guy, he's her roommate, so we thought it'd be funny to, y'know, do that."

I heard Skeeter take a breath. "See, that makes sense. Dumpster thought that, too. But Bud, he was _sure_ …" Skeeter chuckled. "Like I said, the guys were being dickheads. Bud especially."

"Sounds like Bud."

"Geeze, this is the dumbest fuckin' call ever, right?"

"It ranks in the top ten." The damning picture glared at me from my laptop. I felt beads of sweat pool on my face.

"Well, I'll let you go. Just wanted to save you from, well, everyone else."

"Appreciate it, man." More than he'd ever know.

"No big. Hey, Techno?"

"Yeah?"

Skeeter hesitated, then spoke in a tentative tone. "Uh, just wanted to say you're missed over here, dude. That's all."

"You mushy piece of shit."

He laughed nervously. "See you, bro."

I hung up, looked at the picture one more time– _God, why do I look so young–_ and peered over at Ezra. The way he slept was like he'd waited his entire life to take a nap of this caliber. He only stirred when he heard my shaky hands pry the cap off a beer.

"You gonna share that?" he mumbled, wiping dried drool from his mouth.

I chugged half the bottle before smirking at him. "Nope."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q: If you drink... what's your drink of choice?   
> Typically I go with craft beer (witbier, hefeweizens, a good stout or porter are personal faves– Allagash White wins my heart most of the time). But I also love red wine or a solid cocktail. I'm shit at mixing cocktails (college made me think cake vodka + anything = delicious!) so I usually stick with wine/beer unless I'm at the bar.
> 
> Q: Do you ever hate what you've written & how did you deal with it if it did?  
> GOD, YES. All the time! I'll write a new chapter and look at the old one and be like, "what was I thinking?" I deal with it by knowing that at some point it did sound good to me, and that that's how I wanted the story to go, and it's better than rewriting everything obsessively and never producing content at all.
> 
> Q: Is English your first language & where are you from?  
> Yes, and I'm originally from the USA (New York). I think I tend to rewrite things assuming that I'm using colloquial/area-specific phrases...
> 
> Q: Is Ezra based on someone you knew in your real-life? Do you relate more to Ezra or to Milo in this story?  
> Ezra was at first based on Shane from Stardew Valley (feel free to laugh) but as I began to flesh out his character/write this story, he became a conglomeration of a couple friends and I. Personally, I feel like I'm the worst parts of Ezra and Milo all rolled into one! So take that as you will...
> 
> Q: Favorite song right now?  
> SJDGKLMAG THIS IS HARD. Probably "I'm Not" by Daddy Issues or "Digging Holes" by Icarus Himself.
> 
> Q: Favorite writing music?  
> Recently, the Yuri On Ice soundtrack. No shame.
> 
> AHHHH THANK YOU GUYS for all your questions! You're amazing! I'll answer more in the next chapter, so either leave questions in a review or PM them to me! Thank you so so so much for reading, I'm always overwhelmed by your support for this labor of love.


	16. Aisle 16: Escalation

When I recollect the days I spent away from home, a few brief memories stick out.

Memory one: I was on the couch with Ezra. We drank God-knows-what beer and watched God-knows-what cooking competition show while Lynette showered Millie's God-knows-what off her body.

I stood up to get another beer, at which point I noticed Ezra's arm hanging over the spot where I'd been sitting.  _How long did he have his arm there?_ I wondered, finally feeling drunkenness sink in.

"How far's your school from here?"

I glanced over at Ezra. "Random," I replied.

"How far?" he asserted.

"About five hours. Four and a half if you drive like I do… er, did."

"Damn. That's far."

"I got used to it."

"Yeah?" he said distantly. "I won't."

I paused in the middle of opening the fridge. "Did you just admit you're gonna miss me?"

"Nope. That's a sign of weakness. Wait, are you saying you aren't gonna miss me?"

"Let's see how I feel about you when I finally fuck out of here." I offered him a beer. He finished the one in his hand before accepting it. I sat beside him again, now aware of his arm looming behind me on the couch.

Memory two: Ezra, Lynette, and I were drinking whiskey in the kitchen when my phone buzzed. It was lying out on the counter, so Lynette lovingly scooped it up and read the text from my mom out loud for all to hear: "' _Having a great time in Florida with your big bro… here's a pic of us on the beach. Hope all is well._ ' Since when do you have a brother, 'Lo? Oh, he's kind of cute. 'Ra, come look."

" _Hey_ ," I grunted as Ezra slid over to peep at the picture. "Shouldn't I get to see it first, since, y'know, it's my family?"

"Wow," Ezra said. "He  _is_  good looking." My cheeks flushed on the spot. I snatched the phone from Lynette's grasp.

"He's got, like, this innocent charm to him," commented Lynette. "A virginal glow, almost."

"The light's still in his eyes," Ezra agreed, ignoring my dramatic groans.

"You're fucking the wrong brother, 'Ra," said Lynette.

I opened my mouth to correct her, but Ezra intervened. "Who says I can't have both?" And then he smirked like he expected me to get off on what he was saying. I didn't.

Memory three: Ezra and I were crouched by his open bedroom window smoking cigarettes. We blew smoke in a cyclical fashion, one cloud getting chased away by the next. I think we were drunk; we must've been, I barely remember a moment of that week that wasn't spent in some state of intoxication.

Feeling too lazy to hook up his sound system, Ezra played music from his phone instead, which made the songs resonate in my ears with a tinny hum. The sky was gray and the air was warm and wet. Thunder rumbled like it was rolling lazily in the air.

I checked the phone to see what was playing– some lilting tune called 'Mocking Swing'– and when I looked up, Ezra was gazing at me with parted lips. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he turned his eyes back to the open window and took a drag, humming a little. We were quiet for a long time, but I didn't notice.

Eventually Ezra broke the silence. "Talked to my dad earlier."

My eyes widened. "You did what?"

"In case you were wondering, yes, it's all your fault I felt guilty enough to call him back." Ezra pushed his hair away from his eyes as he ashed his cigarette. "We're meeting up later to talk. I didn't promise forgiveness. But I promised to listen."

"Well," I breathed. "That's, uh… good."

"Sure."

Nervously, I tapped my cigarette on the window sill. "Do you want to know what he said on the phone the other night?" I asked. Ezra shrugged. "He said he blames himself. For the bad stuff."

"For my mom's death, you mean."

"Yeah, that."

He sighed and put out his cigarette. "It's a start, I guess." Then he recited with grandiose flair, "' _They fuck you up, your mum and dad_ …'"

I squinted. "Didn't know you were British."

"It's a line by one of my favorite poets. Philip Larkin."

"Ah, poetry," I said, stroking my chin. "I know poetry. For example, a great poet once said, ' _we are broken hearts, two halves of a whole…_ '" Ezra pushed me playfully as he laughed. "What? I think the writer was a true visionary."

"God, I can't believe you can rattle off lines from that dumb thing."

"It's catchy! I put a melody to it in my head and everything."

"Oh, yeah?" Ezra said, fighting against the smile on his lips. "You gonna make a real song out of it? Give it the DJ HighLo treatment?"

That gave me an idea.

After stopping at my house to show Aunt Myrna I was still alive– though she didn't seem to notice I'd left, and I was almost certain she hadn't moved from her spot on the couch– I returned to the apartment to find Ezra had gone to meet up with his dad. Feeling responsible for bringing him some grief, I cracked open a beer and started in on my apology gift.

Lynette helped me put the finishing touches on it minutes before Ezra came back home with a frown on his face.

"Dad's still shitty?" Lynette ventured.

Ezra didn't even look at her. He went straight to the cupboard, grabbed a bottle of Jack, and stomped to his room.

When the door closed, Lynette turned to me so fast, she nearly spilled her glass of wine. "Sir Grumpy Monster Pants has arrived," she whispered, nodding toward Ezra's room. I cringed.

Though drunken courage inspired me to finish the gift, the concept seemed childish in the light of the day, especially when Ezra drove us to work in silence. I didn't even try to talk to him. I finally knew better than to bother angry-sober Ezra.

Lynette perked up as I took my place at the registers after a tense morning shift in the back. "Did he find it yet?" she asked.

"Don't think so," I replied.

Lynette pouted. "Oblivious fucker."

"To be fair, he might be avoiding playing it on purpose."

"A playlist called 'Hot Cashier Boy's Sick Jamz For Lame Work Dayz' isn't something you just  _avoid_."

"Except if you're mad at ' _Hot Cashier Boy'_ for yanking your estranged father back into your life."

"Yeah, I guess you have a point," said Lynette, Cheerleader Supreme.

I found Ezra stocking the canned food aisle and still sporting the same frown from the previous night. I nodded at him as I walked to the break room, but predictably, he ignored me.

 _Damn him,_ I thought bitterly, shoving my hands in my pockets.  _Why won't he talk to me about what's wrong instead of bottling it up and being a dickhead?_

Frustrated, I whipped around to make a passive-aggressive comment, but the shocked look on Ezra's face stopped me in my tracks. He brought his fingers to his earbuds and pressed them into his ears like he wanted to be swallowed whole by the sound. Pride bubbled up in my chest. I smiled.

•

The playlist I made for Ezra was a conglomeration of songs I'd heard from him, my favorite selections from his massive mixtape collection, and tunes I discovered myself through Googling the phrase, " _artists similar to_ " plus any band Ezra had shown me. Piecing together the track list was a breeze– the last song, however, was the one Ezra had asked for.

Though I typically littered my DJ HighLo songs with bass drops, samples, and distortion, the dissonance didn't flow with Ezra's lyrics and none of my go-to loops fit right. I struggled to find inspiration until I listened to a few of Ezra's mixes on whim. It was the core of his favorite music– the emotional threads that connected all the songs– that served as my muse.

Not only was this track a far cry from my usual work, but it was the most fun I'd had making music in forever. I started to realize that "DJ HighLo" was a part of me that I fabricated to fit a certain persona; my song for Ezra was derived from my most inherent impulses.

The song began with a mysterious, haunting melody that came to me with ease, then swelled to become something frantic, frenzied, and all-encompassing, before abruptly stripping itself down to just the melody and harmony, fading together like a slowing heartbeat.

"'Ra actually wrote these lyrics?" Lynette asked after hearing the first draft. "He used to be such a sap."

"Well, his hard-on for your brother was massive."

"Goddamn. Should've guessed he wrote this about Vinny." She smiled, but it faded quickly. "Wonder what gooey shit he's writing these days."

I snorted. "C'mon, Lynette. You really think ol' heart-of-stone Ezra would write a lovey-dovey ballad like this?"

"Yepp," she replied instantly. "Under his thick exterior lies that same sixteen-year-old sap. It just takes something special to drag it out of him." She pointed at me with the hand that wasn't holding the wine glass. "There is no way in hell he's not writing about you."

I laughed it off and asked for her opinion on the song's ending, only allowing her comment to saturate my mind when I laid awake that night with my pulse vibrating in my throat.

Watching Ezra's expression change before my eyes in Vita-Mart, seeing him hold his ears like he wanted to be enveloped– I saw what Lynette was talking about. A glint of innocence. Childlike awe in his eyes. Maybe she was right; maybe I brought it out of him. But I wasn't even trying.

•

"Who sang the lyrics?"

"A computerized voice named  _Curtis_ ," I explained to Ezra, mouth half-full of the sandwich I packed for lunch. "Talented, isn't he? I typed the lyrics into a robot voice app, then manipulated the pitch in Pro Tools."

"Wow," Ezra breathed as he tapped his cigarette. "You're good. I knew you were good before, but… you're  _really_  good. I mean, you made my teenage angst sound deep and poetic."

"Thanks," I said, trying not to grin so wide. "Did you drag me outside during my lunch break just to praise me? I mean, no complaints here…"

He sat beside me on the ground as he grabbed a flask out of his apron, offering it to me. Most of me didn't want to drink, but I found myself taking a sip before I could fully process what was happening. The alcohol went down easily.

"I didn't realize you could put together such a solid fuckin' playlist, either," said Ezra.

I raised an eyebrow. "So you  _did_  listen to the whole thing."

He inhaled sharply. "Okay, for the sake of honesty… I, uh, was in a shit mood and didn't wanna give you the satisfaction of knowing I was listening to it all day." He grimaced. "But then that fuckin' song…  _your_ song came on and I lost my composure. Damn you."

"Damn me to hell." I took another sip through a smile, then handed the flask back.

"Using that stupid old assignment to make a cool-as-shit song… Christ, that's genius." He took a drink, wiped his lips, and looked at his hands. "It was a good distraction from drowning in a guilt tsunami. So thanks for that."

 _Ezra's about to open up!_ I thought excitedly as I glanced at him.  _This is not a drill! Stay calm, don't seem too eager…_

"Although, you  _did_  sort of cause the guilt tsunami," he continued.

My face fell. "Sorry," I muttered. "I'm guessing things with your dad went badly."

He stared straight ahead. "It went fine, actually. He's grown up a lot since I last saw him."

"Really? That's great."

"Sure, but now I feel like a jackass." He rubbed his temples and sighed. "I blamed him for almost ten years, and for what reason? So I could hold a grudge to rationalize my bad habits?"

"Sounds like you."

Ezra laughed through his nose. "It does, doesn't it." He took a drink. A lump rose in my throat.

"Er, that was a bad joke," I clarified. "You were young when it happened, Ezra. You had your own reasons to lash out like you did. All you can do now is move on."

"I know," he said. "I appreciate that you're trying to dole out sage advice, though."

"Just call me Doctor Milo."

"Doctor  _HighLo_ ," Ezra teased.

A thumping noise in the building signaled that someone was about to come outside. Ezra pocketed his flask and I stuffed a bite of sandwich into my mouth before Ryan pushed his way out. Puzzled, he looked at Ezra.

"Didn't you already take a break today?" he asked. Ezra shook his head and brought the cigarette to his lips. "Coulda sworn you did. Anyway, Nadia's looking for you. Up, up."

Just to frustrate Ryan, Ezra rose to his feet and put out his cigarette with painstaking slowness. "Boss lady's in her office?"

Ryan nodded with his lips sucked into his teeth. Ezra gave me a wave before heading back inside. There was now no reason for Ryan to be outside, but he took out his phone and swiped aimlessly while I ate my sandwich.

After a lifetime of uncomfortable silence, Ryan crouched down and shoved his phone in my face. "Whataya think?"

I blinked to get my eyes to focus. The screen displayed a picture of a skinny girl in a white bikini. She was on the beach with a beer in one hand, laughing as the sun set over the horizon.

"Did you take that picture?" I asked incredulously. "Looks professional."

Ryan sighed. "Not what I meant, fruit loop."

I blinked again and realized the girl's photo was part of some dating app. " _Oh_ ," I said. "I didn't notice– I mean– she's cute."

"Cute?" he repeated, turning the phone back to his face. "I think she's a total fuckin' slam piece, but I guess we all have our own scale of sexiness, huh?"

"We sure do." I mumbled, and didn't say another word to him after that.

•

I don't eavesdrop.

Actually, let me rephrase that: I don't go out of my way to eavesdrop, but if I accidentally overhear a conversation that sounds juicy, then it's your fault for being too loud.

Ezra's good at talking quietly when it matters, but Nadia's one of those people who can't turn down her vocal projection dial if she tried. Hence why I overheard her say something in a firm tone as I passed her office: "…between you and Milo."

I paused, pretending to fiddle with one of the signs for  _LOWEST PRICES ON ORGANIC PRODUCE IN TOWN – GUARANTEED!_

"Doesn't sound good, that's for sure," continued Nadia. A wave of nervousness struck me.  _She can't be talking about what I think she is…_ I thought.

Due to Ezra's low pitch, I could only catch bits and pieces of what he said next: "misunderstanding," "supplies," "friends," and "goofing off" stood out.

"Lord," replied Nadia. I could practically see her kneading at her shoulders. "You see why it's dubious, yes?" Mumbles from Ezra. "Right, right, but you might want to clarify things with Ryan. I trust you, Ezra. I do. I hope you wouldn't betray that trust."

"Of course not," Ezra said clearly.

"I figured as much."

A chair squeaked inside the office. I scurried back to the front of the store, heart racing.

"You look possessed," said Lynette as she unwrapped a piece of gum to add to the wad in her mouth. "You play with a Ouija board during lunch? Trying to speak to the spirits of your sandwich?"

"No, no, I think…" I glanced around, then lowered my voice. "I think Ezra's getting in trouble. Because of something…  _bad_ … we did."

Lynette blew a bubble. "Did you guys fuck in the storage closet?" I said nothing. She gasped. " _Shut-the-fuck-up,_ that was only a guess,  _oh-my-God_  you guys are so _–_ "

" _Shhh_!" I hissed, blood rushing to my cheeks. "We didn't  _fuck_ , we barely even hooked up, we just kinda… okay, details aren't important, what's important is that somehow Nadia caught wind of it and–"

The sound of footsteps stopped my sentence in its tracks. When I looked up I saw Ezra trudging toward the registers, pale-faced and on a mission. Lynette snickered behind her hand.

" _Ezra_ ," I whispered. "I heard you talking to Nadia. Was it about the other day? Shit, tell me it wasn't…"

His expression remained stoic for a few long seconds until he cracked a smile. "I think that was the closest I've ever been to getting fired." He seemed strangely amused. "Gotta prevent that little incident from happening again."

I gulped. "How would we prevent–"

Ezra tossed an item on my conveyor belt with a loud clatter. I flinched, then looked down at what he'd thrown. My jaw dropped.

"Well," said Ezra, sounding devious as he proudly stood beside the box of condoms on the belt. "You gonna check me out or what?"

He smirked. I couldn't find the words to answer.

Lynette broke the silence as she stared at the box with wide eyes. "So, like… I should probably go sleep at Millie's tonight, huh?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q: Who's the inspiration for Milo?  
> Milo originally started out as an iteration of Sam from Stardew Valley (surprise, everyone! This whole story is thinly veiled Sam/Shane fanfiction! Kidding kidding kidding), but when I started actually writing him, he took on pieces of guys I knew in college.
> 
> Q: How did you choose Ezra and Milo's names?  
> I wish I was exaggerating, but choosing their names took weeks. I constantly rattled off names in my head until something stuck. For a while, Ezra's name was actually going to be Milo! In the end, Ezra's name was inspired by Ezra Koenig of Vampire Weekend. Milo's was just kind of... random.
> 
> Q: Can you explain how you find the balance between dialogue and describing details?  
> I try to visualize scenes in my head as I write them out, paying close attention to the natural pauses of the dialogue & what, logically, would stick out to someone looking in on the scene in a particular moment. I also achieve a semblance of balance by re-reading my work like a motherfucker.
> 
> Q: How do you know when to reveal a snippet of information about Ezra that gets us (and Milo) closer to figuring him out?  
> When I started writing this, I had a general idea of when I wanted some details to be revealed (of course, as time went on, things changed around drastically). Now I keep an organizational document to plan the flow of the story, and I try to imagine the impact that certain details will have on how I want it all to end.
> 
> Q: Last book you read?  
> I recently finished The Basic Eight by Daniel Handler, and I'm almost done with The Curious Case of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon.
> 
> Q: What songs are on the "Hot Cashier Boy's Sick Jamz For Lame Work Dayz" playlist?  
> Glad you asked! (JK, no one asked, this is a shameless plug). You can listen to the playlist on 8tracks by searching for the tag "poynter" (and it's under an hour, so you can listen to it all for free). Here's the track list:
> 
> Dammit – Blink-182  
> Back Of The Car – Miike Snow  
> Formidable – The Big Moon  
> Selfish Feelings – Christopher Owens  
> No Below – Speedy Ortiz  
> Misanthropic Drunken Loner – Days N' Daze  
> Townie – Mitski  
> The Engine Driver – The Decemberists  
> Offer – Together PANGEA  
> Shithead – Pupppy  
> Leave Me Alone – FIDLAR  
> I Love You Like An Alcoholic – The Taxpayers  
> Buddy Bradley – Adam Green  
> Handcuffs – Brand New  
> Party Police – Alvvays  
> Mocking Swing – Black Honey  
> Get Upset – Soy Christmas  
> Between The Bars – Elliott Smith
> 
> As always, THANK YOU so much for reading, reviewing, following, and all that good stuff. I'm so grateful! Ask questions in your review/PM me a question and I'll answer in the next chapter!


	17. Aisle 17: Precipice

I lost my virginity to Diana Lefstrom when I was sixteen. She was my girlfriend at the time– or rather, she became my girlfriend a week later when the rumors started spreading and we both needed dates to prom anyway. She was talkative, brash, and wild.

"Don't worry about me," Diana cooed on the couch in her basement as I apologized for going slow to prevent premature ejaculation. "I've done this before. Focus on yourself." I took her advice and came within five minutes.

It was only when she broke up with me that I heard from a friend-of-a-friend that she didn't orgasm a single time while we were together. That was a blow to the ego and a wake-up call that imitating stuff I'd seen in porn wouldn't get me very far.

The condoms Ezra tossed on my conveyor belt brought me back to being a sexually stupid sixteen-year-old, but this time, I didn't have a vast knowledge of PornHub videos to tip me off on  _what goes where and when and why and how._ I was clueless.

In a panic, I briefly considered asking Lynette for help.  _Maybe he's talked to her about the ins and outs,_ I thought.  _Literally. Oh my God, I'm going to have to Google this, aren't I?_

"I'm guessing you haven't told him," Lynette stated as we drove home.

I winced. "What… what haven't I told who?"

"Fuck," sighed Lynette. "You really  _haven't_  told 'Ra you've never had sex with a guy."

"I think I mentioned it–"

"Don't lie to me."

I groaned. "Sue me for not knowing how to bring it up, okay? It's not like Ezra ever asked. He just assumed I was a dick-giving-and-or-receiving God."

"I think he's hoping you're the giving type. If you get my drift."

"You mean he's a…" Lynette nodded. I gulped. "Alright, so, like, if I  _were_ to be 'the giving type,' how would I go about… doing it?"

Lynette paused, then started laughing so hard she rolled through a stop sign. An old guy in a pick-up truck beeped at us for ten seconds straight. "You want me _,_ the biggest lesbian in all of the land, to tell you how to fuck another guy? With your  _penis_ and junk? Jesus, 'Lo, you fuckin' kill me."

When we got back to the apartment, Ezra was napping. I laid down on the couch and tried to figure out how to search for  _first time male on male sex_ on the internet without getting questionable results.

_Ezra bought those condoms to give us the_ option _of fucking. It's not like it's going to happen tonight,_ I thought as I rubbed my temples.  _I bet he knows I've only fucked girls, he's just never addressed it directly. Yeah, that's it! He already knows, so there's no pressure._ As if on cue, my bad ankle experienced a sharp pain. I reached down to massage it, hoping this wasn't my body's way of telling me I was an idiot.

Then Lynette grabbed her laptop from the coffee table and put it in her bag. I bolted upright on the couch. "Hey, uh, going somewhere?" I said with a nervous chuckle.

"Millie's place. Remember?" I must've been sporting one hell of a terrified look, because when she glanced over at me, she pursed her lips and whispered, "be honest with him."

"It's not that easy," I mumbled.

"Why?"

"Well, I…"  _Feel embarrassed? Think he'll get weirded out? Don't want to come off as inexperienced?_ "…I don't know," I mumbled.

She patted my shoulder, gave me a  _have fun with the internal crisis, kid_ kind of look, and slung the bag over her shoulder.

The door to Ezra's room creaked open. My breath got short. "You're actually heading out?" Ezra grunted from the other room.

"For the fifth time, yes," she moaned, walking to Ezra's doorway and disappearing from sight. "Does no one in this apartment believe me when I say I'm gonna do something?"

"I hope you know I was kidding." Ezra said it quietly to Lynette, like he was ashamed. "I bought the condoms as a dumb joke."

"Then I guess only one of us will be getting some tonight," she replied while I experienced a wave of relief. "Don't wait up."

"I never do," Ezra said, following her into the living room. He was sporting post-nap bed head, a faded band t-shirt, and flannel pajama pants. The shirt, I noticed, was a little too small for his torso.

Lynette waved, winked at Ezra, and exited. I was trying to think of a few wisecracks I could use to diffuse the tension–  _guess she's got a hot date, am I right?–_ but Ezra grabbed a beer and went back to his room. He left the door ajar and started playing music at a low volume. Halfway through the third song, I realized he was listening to my mix.

"Nice music," I yelled from the couch.

"Thanks," Ezra shouted back.

"Who put these songs together? A devilishly handsome co-worker?" He said nothing. "You aren't denying it."

"I figured it was a joke. The 'devilishly handsome' part, I mean."

"Ouch."

The music droned on in the background.  _Give me everything you got…_

"Can't believe you found a good band I haven't heard of," Ezra called out.

"Sounds like you're scared I'm becoming cooler than you," I said.

"Impossible."

"Fine. Then you're scared I'm becoming the same level of cool as you."

Ezra walked into the hallway, loosely gripping an empty beer bottle in his hand. "Wanna do shots?"

"Of what?"

"Lynette's expensive coconut rum that she hides in her closet so I don't drink it."

"I'm down."

Ezra grinned. "As usual."

•

_It was a joke._

We sat in Lynette's chaotically arranged closet and slurped rum as the thought burned in the back of my mind:  _The condoms were a joke, there's nothing to worry about._

But the more Ezra drank, the more he looked at my lips, and the more I started to sense feelings lurking beneath the surface. As soon as I hit the magic number of shots that kickstarts courageousness, I cleared my throat. "Funny prank you pulled at the Mart earlier. With the condoms."

Ezra chuckled. "I couldn't help but lighten the mood after almost getting my ass beat by Nadia."

"She wouldn't beat your ass. She's too busy staring at it all the time."

"She'd kick it if she thought I was… how do I say this… unavailable."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Dude, she's not psychotic."

"You're right, you're right. But it could be a motivating factor for beating my ass. It  _is_ a nice ass, though, huh?"

"Oh, I was for sure staring when you walked away with a box of  _premium lubricated_ condoms in hand." I wanted to keep running with suggestive comments, but I refrained. "You really spent money just to prank me?"

"Kinda." He leaned back on the wall. One of Lynette's dresses, haphazardly slung on a coat hanger, cushioned his head. "I've also been out of condoms for a while."

"Like… since when?" I asked. Ezra shrugged. His gaze was pointed straight ahead and his hands were gripping his knees. I yearned to know more, but I was distracted by an ache in my ankle. " _Jesus_ ," I muttered, reaching down to prod my skin.

"What up?"

"My bad ankle." Ezra looked confused. "Remember how I kept complaining about it when we were at Niagara Falls?"

Ezra chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Fuck, man, barely. That was a night and a half."

"It's the ankle I hurt during rugby," I reminded him. Ezra squinted. "On purpose."

" _Now_  I remember," he said as he snapped his fingers. "How's the little fella holding up?"

"Being a real bitch today." Talking about our trip to Niagara Falls gave me an idea for how to get Ezra to open up more. I took a stab at it. "Hey, remember that answer game we played at Niagara Falls? When we yelled stuff about ourselves at the water? Let's play again."

He gave me a look. "You probably just want me to talk about my sex life or something, you gross fucker."

I placed a hand over my heart. "Nooo. I'm innocent. I'd never try to get you to tell me something so… intimate."

"Liar." He ran his hand through his hair and smirked with the same  _devilishly handsome_ aura I'd claimed to have. I watched, struck by how his facial features were both blurred and enhanced by the dim lighting of the closet.

_I think you'd like me better if you lived the way I do…_

The final song of the mix filtered in from Ezra's room. He chuckled to himself and looked over at me, his eyes wide as though he were trying to take in every detail of my body at once. Then he opened his mouth.

" _I thought I was in love when I wrote those lyrics_!"

Ezra's shout made me jump. "Did you have to yell?" I groaned as he laughed.

"Duh. At the Falls, we yelled out our answers. I'm just playing  _correctly_."

I gave him a playful shove with my elbow. "Wait, back up. Sixteen-year-old Ezra had feelings?"

"That's a question."

"My bad, let me rephrase that: I didn't think Ezra felt anything but twinges of apathy!" I shouted.

"I didn't realize Milo never had dumb teenage infatuations!" Ezra shot back.

"I don't think Milo had any 'teenage infatuations' at all!" I exclaimed. Ezra regarded me with aloof interest. "I mean, I dated around, but that was mostly so I could have someone to stick my dick in."

"Your dick…  _in_  someone. I see." Ezra mumbled as he held up the bottle. Coconut rum slipped through his smirk.

"Jealous?" I said it the way Ten Girls In One Semester Milo would've said it: confident and coy with a hint of  _we're totally going to bang later_. My heart began to race when I realized how sexy I sounded.

However, Ezra didn't sound phased. "You are so full of yourself.  _'Jealous?'_ " he repeated in a mocking tone, placing the rum bottle on the floor. "Also, that counts as a question." I rolled my eyes at him. The end of the song played in the background:  _Be patient, wait in shadows, I'll lock you up like thieves…_

I regretted starting this game. All I wanted to do was ask questions:  _why haven't you fucked me yet? There's been plenty of opportunities, so what's stopping you? What's preventing you from boning me right now?_

"This must be the longest you've ever gone without speaking."

"Actually, this one time in fifth grade, I refused to talk for a whole day because my mom wouldn't let me go to Cedar Point with my friend, and…" Ezra was laughing before I could finish. My cheeks reddened. "Wow, I don't know why I went off like that."

He smiled. "You're just playing the answer game, right?"

"That's a question." The song came to a close, leaving a dull ringing in my ear. I watched Ezra lick his lips and reach for the rum. With pronounced movements, his hand grasped the bottle and instantly sparked fantasies of his fingers curling around something similarly shaped. I swallowed hard.

Ezra's gaze flickered toward me and I saw him take note of my lingering stare. Being the asshole he was– and continues to be to this day– he loosened his grip, then moved his hand up and down the neck of the bottle, building up to a steady rhythm. As much as I wanted to look away just to spite the smug look on his face, I couldn't; I'd been seduced. As much as it pains me to admit this, I was absolutely getting a boner watching Ezra jerk off a bottle of coconut rum.

"God, are you drooling right now?" Ezra mumbled. "Shit, question– what I meant to say was,  _you are totally drooling and I bet you wish this bottle was you_."

"Maybe you wish I was the bottle," I said, voice cracking.

He snickered. "Don't get cocky."

"Don't tease me."

"No promises, HighLo."

Ezra had inched closer to me during our banter. I tore my eyes away from the bottleneck and focused on his lips. Silence heightened the tension between us.

"I don't think you bought those condoms as a joke!" I said it nervously and loudly. "I mean, like… I think you actually did plan on getting laid tonight."

Ezra pulled back. "Bold fuckin' statement," he said. "Almost like  _you_  planned on getting laid tonight, too."

"Well, today, you implied…" Ezra was already laughing. I stopped talking and folded my arms over my chest.

"Go on," Ezra encouraged me. "I wanna hear you try to talk around the fact that you were super excited to fuck me."

"Nah. I'm done."

"Do it."

"No."

"Come on."

I shook my head.

"Fine," he relented. "I'm gonna do one more round of this answer game bullshit, and then we have to stop playing because I have a serious question." I raised an eyebrow. Ezra gave me his patented  _God, you have no idea what to expect and I love it_ smile. "Get ready."

"Ready."

Ezra licked his lips and leaned in to me. His hot breath burned my ear as he growled. "I've been thinking about getting fucked by you all day."

If there's a word in the English language that means  _aroused and terrified_ , the dictionary definition is probably  _Milo after Ezra whispered sweet nothings in his ear._ "Oh," I breathed, paralyzed by the warmth spreading throughout my body.

Ezra grinned. "Game over." Strands of his hair brushed against my cheek while he swayed in place, unable to keep still. He brought his hand to my stomach and slowly slid it up my chest, then curled his fingers around the back of my neck. Shivers counteracted the boiling of my skin, and Ezra's grip steadied his body's shaky movements. "Now, I've got a question for you."

I felt a lump rise in my throat. "Yeah?" I murmured.

"Do you want me?"

I loved the way his lips felt against my neck. I reveled in the sensation of his fingers stroking the hair on the back of my head. I sighed as his other hand squeezed my inner thigh. I did want him; I wanted anything he had to offer me, no matter how drunk we were, no matter how many times Lynette's dresses tickled my face and made me think I was getting attacked by closet spiders. I wanted him so badly that my nervousness melted away, corroded by passion and the moment and the sheer need to resolve the palpable tension between us.

"Yes," I exhaled. His hand traveled up my thigh. "Yes, yes, yes, I want you."

Ezra pressed his mouth on my jawline and spoke in a low, raspy tone I'd never heard from him before. "You wanna fuck me, baby?"

"God, yes."

I felt his lips curl into a smile against my skin. "About fuckin' time."

•

Since I'm tempted to lie about how the rest of the night went, I'm just going to lay out the truth: Ezra and I didn't fuck that night.

Shit, we didn't even get each other's pants off before things went sour. In fact, instead of using that night to close the physical gap between us, we began a vicious cycle that I couldn't fully understand at the time. But now, months later, I get it. I get what I did wrong, what  _we_ did wrong.

I guess I should have realized from the start that Ezra and I were meant to destroy each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q: Where does Milo to college (if it's a specific college)?  
> Milo goes to some random, liberal arts SUNY school. Most likely in the vicinity of the college attended by the main characters in my other story, Roommate, Soulmate (shameless plug! woo!).
> 
> Q: What's your favorite time of day to write?  
> I do most of my writing at night due to my work schedule, but the days when I can wake up early and write in the morning are my absolute favorites.
> 
> Q: How do you balance a character's quirks out so that they're relatable but interesting at the same time?  
> I draw a lot of my "balancing" skills from experiences with people, both in real life and within works of fiction. I think about how people I know IRL act when they think no one's looking, how they lie, how they try to be taken seriously– and how they balance all of that. I also think about examples of badly written fictional characters who are awful because their outlandish actions distracted from the plot/made them too one-note to be likeable– then I try not to imitate those types of characters!  
> A lot of times I spit out certain lines on paper that immediately strike me as being a.) out of character or b.) way too silly to be taken seriously, so I tone it down during my editing process (i.e., "how can I get the same result from this dialogue/action without jeopardizing the integrity of the character?"). WHEEEW long answer but I hope that answered your question sufficiently!
> 
> Have a question for me? Ask it in your review or message me and I'll answer it at the end of the next chapter!
> 
> As always, you guys keep me going. Hopefully I'll be churning out updates on a more regular basis soon, but thanks for sticking with me even when it takes a few weeks for me to produce quality content. I'm constantly awed by your support & so so so so so so so grateful. ❤︎


	18. Aisle 18: Accidents

It started with a joke, I think. Some offhand comment from Ezra about my future in the music industry now that I had a  _hit single_ featuring his lyrics. I took his comedic set-up and ran with it– this is all while we're drunkenly feeling each other up, by the way, so you can imagine how in-depth this conversation was– and I started kidding around about how Ezra had given me the confidence to pursue a career in music and change majors yet again.

The mention of going back to school was the breaking point. I remember it so vividly, the way Ezra's grip loosened, how his eyes got wide and he seemed to lose color in his face. It was like he realized I'd died in his arms and he'd been fondling a corpse this whole time.

My smile faded as he stared blankly at me. "'Sup?" I asked.

"Nothing," he murmured.

I leaned in to kiss him again. He barely reciprocated. "Okay, for real, what's going on?" I insisted.

"Nothing."

"You just, like, froze." He looked away and didn't move. I didn't move either. We endured a long silence with our hands up each other's shirts. "Uhm," I said after a minute.

"I'm just confused, I guess," Ezra said, retracting his hands from my body. "Not to be a buzzkill or anything."

"Huh?"

"I didn't realize you were still planning on going back to school."

My heart sank but I didn't know why. "Well, yeah," I said. "It was always my plan."

"No, like, I knew it was your plan at some point, but next semester? You haven't talked about it at all." His expression was amused, but his tone was stoic.

Still drunk enough to not fully process emotions, I laughed loudly. "I just wanna get a degree."

"In what?"

"Huh?"

"Degree in what?" His stare locked onto mine.

"To… be… determined?" I offered. Then I started mumbling. "I mean, the music production thing isn't a  _bad_ idea, but I don't think my school offers a major–"

"Seriously?"

The hint of disgust in Ezra's tone took me by surprise. "Uh, yeah, seriously."

"You don't need a degree for that," Ezra told me. "You don't need a degree for anything, technically. I never got a degree and I'm doing just about the same as if I had one, you know?" He chuckled.

"Yeah," I agreed, wanting his rant to end.

To my dismay, he pressed on, his cadence quickening. "See, you get me. You don't wanna go back anyway. It's fuckin' weird, the way we're pressured into going to college and shit. It's a money-suck, that's all. Fuck, I'm glad I got out. I'm glad  _we_ got out. God, Milo, sometimes I swear you and I are the same person."

A chill crept up my spine. "What d'you mean by that?" I murmured.

There was a gleam in Ezra's eyes, like he'd been waiting forever to bring this up. "We're the same in a lot of ways. Think about it, think of the crazy-ass stuff we both did to make dropping out look like an  _accident_. We're insane, right?"

My throat was too tight to get the right words out. "I… don't…"

Ezra glanced at the ceiling. A small smile formed on his lips. "Well, my way was definitely more fuckin' clear-cut, yours was an impulse–"

"What are you saying?" I blurted out.

Ezra looked puzzled. "I'm summarizing why you're here right now," he said, straightening his posture. "You got in that car crash on purpose."

A cold sensation throttled my insides. Despite the coconut rum sloshing around in my bloodstream, my body suddenly clicked from drunk to sober. "No," I croaked. "No, I didn't get in a car accident just to have an excuse to leave school."

Ezra paused, expression blank. His eyes moved slowly from one edge of my body to the other. Then he furrowed his brow. "You sure?"

"Am I– what– of course I'm sure."

"You ever thought about it?"

"No."

"Maybe you should."

"That's ridiculous."

"Nah. It's really not." Ezra rose from the bed and stretched. "You told me you purposely got hurt in rugby so you wouldn't have to play–"

"That was different," I interjected. "That's not the same as crashing a fucking car."

"Yeah, but your mind would still go to that place."

I peered up at him and gripped the side of the mattress. "What do you mean?"

"You told me you weren't that drunk the night you crashed, and you probably had plenty of room to avoid the deer and the pole, but you didn't." The more he talked, the more my knuckles clenched. "You also told me you didn't know what you wanted to do in school, which is frustrating, and a reason to drop out. You didn't even want to play your sport, from what it seems like. Hell, maybe you were even a little emotionally repressed." He smirked. "So, when you have the opportunity to get out, why wouldn't you just take it?"

"Because  _I'm_  not  _you_!" It was the first thing that came to mind and the worst thing I could've said. "I wouldn't do something so stupid just to, I don't know, save the tiniest bit of face!"

Ezra narrowed his eyes. "You didn't do it just to 'save face', Milo. It was–"

"Oh my  _God_ ," I exclaimed, rubbing my face with my hands. "You're trying to tell me what I was thinking! Shouldn't I be the only one who knows my own fucking thoughts?"

"That's  _not_ what I'm doing!"

"I mean, Jesus Christ, that's straitjacket-level shit, and you think I would– fuck, Ezra, do you even know me?"

He folded his arms over his chest. "Maybe not," he muttered.

" _Definitely_  not," I shot back as I leapt off the bed. "You know what, this is fucked. I'm going back home."

"Cool. Fine," Ezra called out while I stormed toward the door.

"Yeah,  _cool, fine_ ," I mimicked in my most immature tone, grabbing my jacket and bag from the couch before barreling out of the apartment, leaving Ezra to pick up the pieces by himself.

•

I walked back to my house and laid down in my backyard face-up, shivering as a breeze rolled over me. I was stuck between wanting Ezra to beg me to come back and never wanting to speak to him again.

The scene played on a loop in my head, some parts blurrier than others, the image of Ezra being the blurriest. His face was a lightning-fast ticker tape of expressions, cycling through smugness and frustration and empathy and contempt as he seemed to tower above me in my memory. Each time I remembered our conversation, he morphed into more and more of a narrator, providing thoughts and background information, even when I didn't want to hear it, even when I begged him to stop.

_Why did he think we were so similar?_ I wondered.  _Why is he so against me going back to school? Would he have purposely crashed the car? Did_ I  _purposely crash the car?_

I punched my leg to make the last thought go away. It didn't. Desperate for a distraction, I turned to the internet and looked up the one thing that might've been able to shed more light on my situation. I felt dirty writing "Ezra Holstein" into the search bar.

Past the line of mugshots that graced Ezra's  _Top Images–_ I still couldn't believe how young and full of himself he looked– I found little information besides police reports and a page on his former college's website. I took a chance and followed the link to an old article about the results of a fiction writing contest.

The article didn't mention Ezra at all; however, when I scrolled down, I noticed a small caption below a picture of the contest winners holding certificates and wearing cheesy grins.

_FIRST PLACE & CHAPBOOK PRIZE WINNER: EZRA HOLSTEIN (CLASS OF '12)_

In the middle photo, holding the most fancy certificate, was some redheaded guy with a crooked nose. At his side were two girls. No Ezra in sight.

I closed my phone and started to wonder if Ezra was just a figment of my imagination to make me realize hidden truths about myself. Maybe my life had become a dark indie movie and I was the unfortunate main character whose ending would never be happy. I fell asleep while I planned songs for the award-winning soundtrack, only to wake up a couple hours later with my phone buzzing on my chest.

"Hnglo?" I mumbled to the person on the other line.

"Milo, hi, it's Kaya. Sorry if I woke you up. You're the only one who would answer." I briefly forgot I knew a single soul named Kaya before she continued. "Lynette's phone is off, I think, but I tried her a billion times. Anyway, Ezra took a bus to our place and he's piss-drunk and rowdy as shit. The neighbors complained and he wandered off to some dive bar. Clyde's been tailing him, but he can't stay out babysitting Ezra's drunk ass all night. Can you please pick him up?"

"Oh," I said, remembering Kaya's existence. "Uh. Can't he just sleep over?"

"No," she said sternly. "I have, like, family coming early in the morning. Like, really early. I was trying to, you know, clean when Ezra came barreling in. He needs to be gone  _tonight_." It was an obvious lie, but if they were so adamant about abandoning Ezra, I had a feeling they'd eventually just leave him to sleep on the streets.

My heart began to race as I glanced over at the driveway. Dad's car was right where he left it, and I knew where he'd hidden the keys. It was early enough in the night where I could get to Niagara Falls and back without Aunt Myrna stepping foot outside. I had a clear choice in front of me, but in that moment, it didn't feel like much of a choice at all.

"Yeah, I can drive. I'll come get him."

The first thing I did after Kaya hung up (besides pace in nervous circles for five minutes) was call Lynette. She must've been screening Kaya's calls, because she answered mine on the second ring.

Booming music and lots of voices could be heard in the background of Lynette's end.  _I thought she was having a quiet night in with Millie_ , I thought, confused.

"No, 'Lo, I do  _not_ want to hear about your sexcapades," she slurred loudly in lieu of a greeting.

I sighed. "We didn't even… Lynette, Ezra did something dumb."

"What's new?"

"He took a bus to Kaya and Clyde's and now he's being drunk and obnoxious. They want me to go get him. Like,  _drive_ and go get him." Lynette made a raspberry noise. "I'm guessing, uh, you can't go get him instead…?"

"That's a no," said Lynette.

"What about Millie?"

"No," she answered quickly. "Nope, nope-ity nope. All you, kid."

"Well," I said, frustration mounting in my chest. "Great."

"We've all stolen our parents' cars before. It's no big deal. Just put it in neutral and push it to the end of the driveway before you drive away. Oh, and don't hit anything."

"Sage advice."

"You know me. You and 'Ra didn't bang yet?"

I swallowed. "I thought you didn't want to know details."

"I don't. I just wanted to know, seeing as he's miles away…"

"We'll talk later."

"Ooh, juicy."

"Bye, Lynette."

"Don't be such a sourpuss, 'Lo," Lynette said in a sing-song voice. "You're gonna be fine. Driving's like riding a dy– I mean, a bike. You never forget."

"I know."

"You sound nervous. Say it with me…" Her deep inhalation sounded like a violent gust of wind. " _I will be fine_."

"I will be fine," I murmured.

"Louder."

"No, Lynette, I'm in the backyard and my aunt's inside–"

"LOUDER!" she commanded. "I. WILL. BE. FINE"

" _I-will-be-fine_ ," I said in a loud whisper.

"That'll have to do. Go get 'em, honey." Lynette hung up. I really did have to do this. I really  _was_ going to do it. There was no way out of it now.

_I will be fine_ , I thought as I snuck into the garage and grabbed the car keys out of my dad's toolbox.

_I will be fine_ , I thought while I pushed the car to the edge of the driveway.

"I will be fine," I said to myself as I put the key in the ignition. I had a brief flashback to the last time I sat in the driver's seat of this car, watching the orange street lights become terrorizing blurs before my eyes, waiting for confirmation that my friends were total assholes. This time was different, though. It didn't feel like I  _had_  to help Ezra, I actually  _wanted_  to help him. I had to make sure he was okay, and if he wasn't, I was going to make him okay.

"I will be fine, and he will be fine," I affirmed. I plugged my phone in, turned on the directions, and queued up a playlist I'd made for one of Ezra's mixes:  _SURE-FIRE CONFIDENCE BOOSTER._ A wailing guitar riff harmonized with the sound of my foot hitting the gas pedal. The music, along with the adrenalin rush, propelled me onto the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLLLOOOO MOTHERFUCKERS. So sorry about the wait, but hopefully this chapter-dump makes up for it? No? How about... confetti? A cake? Well-placed googly eyes for comedic effect?
> 
> ...Still no? Damn.
> 
> I know this was the longest I've taken to provide an update, and for that I really do apologize. Please understand that when I take forever to update it's not because I've suddenly decided to quit this story, but rather, I'm just trying to produce the most satisfying, worthwhile chapter possible– and sometimes that means some pretty vicious rewrites (for example, I've written 5-to-10 page scenes only to figure out they don't have a purpose, so I have to scrap those suckers and do a major rewrite).
> 
> Anyway! Thanks for all the kind words in my absence, I'm forever overwhelmed by your support and can't express how much I adore you guys. I think I say this in every single chapter update but I AM SO THANKFUL FOR Y'ALL.
> 
> I'm gonna throw the Q&A questions on the following chapter, and as always, PM me or leave a Q in your review and I will hit you with an A when I update. Peeeeeeeeace ouuutttt.


	19. Aisle 19: Repetition

I soared down the dark highways with the windows cracked and breathed deeply, ignoring the shaking in my hands and the remnants of a buzz in my brain. My focus was planted on was the sensation of the wheel in my hand and my feet on the pedals, and how the fuck I was going to approach Ezra when I saw him. Whenever I had a moment of self-doubt or felt the desire to turn around, I imagined a scenario where Ezra got arrested for some ridiculous reason. That usually made me drive even faster.

I don't think I took a single breath until I'd safely parked in front of the bar. My confidence was boosted when I realized I'd shaved off nearly an hour of travel time and knew I'd be able to get home before sunrise. When I walked up to the bar and saw Clyde waiting, however, I noticed my hands were still shaking.

"Hey," I said with a smile and a wave.

Clyde waved back, but didn't smile. "Thanks for coming," he said. He sounded exhausted.

"Where's Ezra?"

"He's puking in the bathroom."

"Are you sure he's puking in the right place? Like, in an actual toilet?" Clyde looked at me quizzically. "Uh, it's because this one time… nevermind."

"Right. I didn't let him have anything else to drink here," he clarified. "We just needed him out of our apartment on the double, and this was, of course, the only place he'd go willingly." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I apologize for the inconvenience. We just… can't deal with him right now."

"Nah, it's not a big deal."

Clyde shook his head. "He's pulled this stunt before, you know. He'll take a bus and see where he ends up, getting plastered on the way. I'm sure he has some absurdly poetic reasoning behind it. I thought he grew out of doing it in college." Clyde sighed and reached in his pocket. "By the way, could you give this to him? Maybe not now, but if…  _when_  he sobers up." He handed me a folded-up piece of paper. "There's a chapbook competition going on that fits his style of writing. Thought he might want to enter. Might get him on the right track toward, well, getting his shit together."

"Chapbook!" I said, snapping my fingers as I remembered the mysterious Ezra-related picture on the website. "What is that _?"_

Clyde raised an eyebrow. "It's a kind of short publication of someone's work. Little, cheaply-produced books. It's pretty cool to get a chapbook of your work published."

"Did Ezra ever have one published before?"

"That's the funny thing," Clyde said wistfully. "In college, he entered a school-wide fiction writing competition. Winning was an immense honor, because first place got their chapbook published and circulated around local bookstores. Ezra ended up getting expelled a couple days before they named the winners, so even though he was slated to win, they gave his prize to some other kid."

 _So that's why his name was listed on the site_ , I thought.  _Someone must've screwed up and written the caption based on outdated information._ "That's dumb. If his shit was the best, he should've won," I grunted.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Clyde murmured. "He's not aware he would've gotten first place, as far as I know– I found out through one of my professors. So don't tell him."

"Why not? That's pretty exciting."

Clyde cringed. "Or it would make him hate himself even more."

Suddenly the front door of the bar clattered against the outside wall, making Clyde jump. Ezra, one hand holding the door wide open, stared at us blankly for a few seconds. "The fuck'd you get here?" he asked. My stomach turned.

Clyde put a hand on my shoulder. "Have fun. I have to go home and get some rest before work."

"I thought Kaya's family was visiting in the morning."

"Oh," muttered Clyde, looking at the ground. "Yeah. Yeah, they are, but… I still gotta work, you know how that goes!" He laughed through his lie. After an awkward fist-bump, Clyde bid goodnight to Ezra and walked away, though Ezra's gaze stayed glued to me.

"Hi," I said quietly, acknowledging Ezra's attentive look.

"The fuck'd you get here?" he repeated, lumbering over to me with some difficulty. "You following me?" As he approached, I realized he was smiling. It wasn't an angry, bitter smile as I expected– it was one of sincere relief. Tension melted from my shoulders.

"Yeah, it's my life goal to be wherever you are," I told him.

"That right?"

"One hundred percent true. It's also my life goal to get you in the car so we can go home."

"Wait, you can't drive. Why are you driving?" He leaned against a wall, fumbling through his jacket pocket. "Oh, my God, Clyde made you come here to pick me up like I'm someone's fuckin' child. Of course he did."

"Your friends are jerks."

"You just figure that out?"

"Let's get in the car."

"Wait," said Ezra, holding out a cigarette. "One smoke, then we can go. I'll be a good boy and won't put up a fight, since you're breaking the law for me and all."

Reluctantly, I grabbed the cigarette. It took Ezra a minute to light both of us up. Ezra definitely wasn't all there and his balance was wonky, but he wasn't as bad as I thought he'd be. I had a feeling Kaya and Clyde just wanted to get rid of him.  _Those two have funny ways of showing they care,_  I thought, hand curling tighter around the contest flyer Clyde gave me.

We smoked in silence, save for a few times Ezra looked me in the eyes and giggled for reasons unknown; then, being a man of his word, he followed me to the car after we put out our cigarettes.

"I'm not a kid," he muttered when I directed him to put on his seatbelt. "No matter how much Kaya and Clyde think I am."

"I know you're a grown-ass adult. I'm just permanently scarred from an extremely terrifying car accident, so please put on your damn seatbelt." He complied instantly.

I pulled out of the parking lot, just realizing the rearview mirror had been off-center since I left the house. I adjusted it at a stop sign and cleared my throat. "So, can I ask how the hell you ended up here?" No response. I glanced at the passenger's seat and realized Ezra was already asleep, jaw hanging open, a drop of drool threatening to dampen his shoulder. I leaned forward and turned down the radio.

When I got on the highway, I drove slower, but with less trepidation. My hands weren't shaking anymore. Eventually, I turned the radio off entirely, letting the hum of Ezra's soft snores fill the hush. Every time I looked over at him, I remembered how damn freeing it felt to drive.

After an hour I was the only car on the tree-lined highway. When I glanced over at Ezra, wondering if he had to pee as badly as I did, I noticed he was awake and looking out the windshield. He stared, motionless and expressionless, as the highway whipped past the windows. Though I wasn't good at reading signs when he and I first met, at that point in our relationship, I finally understood a few of Ezra's signals; for example, at that moment, he didn't want me to say a single word. If I did, it would be met with a vicious glare. It took him another half an hour to speak to me.

"This whole night totally convinced you to go back to school, huh?" His voice was low and scratchy, but his annunciation proved he was much more sober.

"Uh, good morning to you too," I said.

"You know what I mean," Ezra continued, still unmoving from his slouched position in the passenger's seat. "You're finally experiencing the full spectrum of The Ezra Holstein Shit-Show and now you're ready to fuck out of here."

"Yepp, you're right," I said sarcastically. "You're the sole reason I want to go back to school. Obviously."

Ezra scoffed and sat up. "Don't act like my stupid antics aren't a factor."

"They're not. Man, what is  _with_ you tonight? You keep trying to tell me what I'm thinking and shit."

"I'm not doing that. I'm just pointing out logic."

"Well, you're wrong."

"Whatever," he grunted. "I didn't ask you to come get me, you know. That was all Kaya and Clyde, stealing my phone and getting your number. They were totally just having relationship issues and couldn't deal with me on top of their own shitty fighting. You could've said no to them, made them suck it up."

"Yeah, and then they would've kicked you out on the streets for the night. Plus, you'd miss work." I pulled off the highway, heading toward the back roads that led home.

"You still had the choice not to pick up the guy who  _apparently_  is trying to tell you what you're thinking," Ezra said in a mocking tone. "If I were you, I wouldn't have come."

"Guess that's just proof we're not the same person," I said bluntly.

"Wow," he responded after a pause. "That really hit you where it hurt, didn't it? When I said you and I are similar?"

"It didn't, I'm… I'm just my own person."

"Hopefully."

My grip on the wheel tightened. "What does that mean?"

" _Hopefully_ you're your own person, because then you won't turn out like me."

"Oookay," I drew out, heat rising in my head. "I can't tell if you're throwing a pity party or trying to insult me."

"Neither."

"Then what are you doing, exactly?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ezra smirk. "I'm trying to push you away, Milo," he said nonchalantly. "Is it working?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but all of a sudden, a blur down the road caught my eye and stopped my heart.

It's impossible to remember exactly what happened next. There was a loud sound, but I don't know if it was the brakes of the car or the thumping of my pulse in my ears or one of us screaming. My mind felt like it was full of white noise, the streetlights seemed to dim, Ezra was yelling things, and I couldn't feel myself stop the car or get out or stand on the side of the road for what had to be a thousand minutes, but as soon as I caught my breath and staggered backwards, I realized what had almost happened–  _again_.

" _Fuck_!" I leaned on the hood of the car and buried my head in my elbows, pulling my hair to counteract the numb feeling in my body. " _Fuck_!" I screamed like it was the only word I could remember. "Fuck, fuck fuck  _fuck_ …"

"What… the fuck… just happened?" Ezra said, walking around to where I was groveling. His voice was muffled.

"You didn't see?" I asked, feeling delusional. "It was right there–  _right there–_ I was gonna hit it–"

"What, that deer?" I nodded vigorously. "It was a little further up the road, I don't think you would've–"

"Are you fucking blind?" I shouted. "I was about to run right into it! How didn't you  _see_ that? Jesus!" I grabbed the back of my neck and struggled to get a deep breath in. "I was gonna do it again… for  _no_ reason… why the fuck did I even–  _fuck_!"

Everything in my body was operating on overdrive. It was such a profound state of shock and dismay that I couldn't figure out how to put myself back together, and I froze in place, mumbling to myself and tugging at my clothes and skin and hair until a hand lightly gripped my shoulder.

"Milo," said Ezra, his fingers curling around me. "I'm sorry." My arms dropped to my sides. I didn't know why he was sorry; I didn't care. His scent– a mix of cigarettes, rum, beer, cologne, and something I couldn't place– filled the air. Suddenly, I needed him.

The moonlight took years off his face, illuminating his skin in the smooth, white light. He held out his arms like an invitation, and I fell into his chest, limbs going limp in his tight embrace. Ezra and I had never hugged before. Hell, we barely touched if it wasn't leading to something. But the feeling of his body pressed against mine was a kind of comfort I didn't know I needed.

In that moment, I felt as though I couldn't function without him: The person I hated sometimes, the person I couldn't get out of my head when I tried to fall asleep, the person who got me into this situation. And when he rubbed my back and whispered soothing words in my ear, I understood for the first time that he was someone I needed to hold on to.

"Come on," Ezra murmured as he broke away from me. "I'll drive the rest of the way."

I nodded before I realized what I was agreeing to. "Wait, no, no, you're… you can't."

"I haven't had a drink since I got to the Falls five hours ago and I've talked myself out of six– no, seven traffic tickets. I got this." Unconvinced, I grimaced. Ezra sighed. "What just happened was fucked up, Milo. There's no way you're fit to drive after that. Keys, please."

Knowing I was more weary and unstable than Ezra at that point, I dropped the keys in his hand. "If anything happens to this car, I'm gonna…" I tried to think of a witty threat, but nothing came to mind.

Ezra smiled sympathetically. "You're gonna take my ass to court?"

"Yeah, sure."

Ezra rubbed my back until my breaths were slightly deeper than a dried-up puddle, then I climbed into the passenger's seat. Behind the wheel of my dad's SUV, Ezra looked out of place. He was too wild to sit where my straight-laced, sober father spent his morning commute.

He adjusted the mirrors and pulled off the side of the road with a speedy lurch forward. I squeezed my eyes shut, a rush of anxiety overwhelming me. Ezra must have noticed, because a few seconds later, I felt a small object fall into my lap. It was a pocket-sized notebook that had been through hell by the look of its crusty cover and tattered pages.

"Road trip story time," Ezra said after clearing his throat. "I used to hop on busses and just ride around when I was in college. I'd drink in the back and write notes about how I could better myself, or at least fix myself. That's the notebook I usually used. Look through it, it's all terrible advice."

Raising an eyebrow, I flipped to the first page and read aloud. "'Drink more absinthe. Smoke more weed. Fuck your professor. Try acid.' Wow, you were such a worldly soul."

He chuckled and shook his head. "I'd end up really far away and then beg Clyde or Eitan to come pick me up. And they would– well, Eitan more times than Clyde– and they accepted it as part of who I was."

"So that's what you did tonight?" I asked.

He cringed. "Well, see, I was gonna do that. And then I missed the entrance to the park and ride and decided to drive all the way to the Falls for no good reason."

"And get even more wasted on the way."

"In a parking garage, actually." He didn't sound proud of that decision. "I tried to go to Eitan's first, then I realized he was out of town, so I stopped in some dingy parking structure and got drunk enough to wander over to Kaya and Clyde's. I  _think_ it's an overnight structure… at least, I hope, 'cause my car's still there, I'll have to get Lynette to drive me there tomorrow– point is, I was mad at you, and wanted to get out of town, and I shouldn't have." His eyes flickered toward me. "So… I'm sorry. I'm sorry you almost got into another wreck because of me, Milo. I really am."

I stayed silent for a bit, staring up at the dim, sparse streetlights as they passed. My shoulders tensed when the car hit a pothole. I took a deep breath, eyes averted from Ezra's face. "I just hope you get it now," I began. "I hope you understand that I would never crash a car on purpose."

Ezra said nothing. I expected that.

I read his notebook cover-to-cover as we drove through the night. Each page seemed to contain its own fragment of angst; instead of poetic musings, the notes were written as a frantic stream-of-consciousness. I kept running my hands over the words like I could draw energy from the ink and absorb parts of Ezra that he wasn't proud of.

Eventually I found a section of untouched pages in the middle of the notebook. The page before had bold, almost unreadable scribbles on it.  _Drop out, drop out, drop OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT,_ the words screamed, then trailed off into blank lines.

When I squinted, though, I realized there was one more sentence at the very bottom of the page, written small but legibly:  _No one will ever understand you._

_•_

Ezra pulled into my driveway at almost five in the morning. "I'm gonna walk home," he said through a yawn as he turned off the car. "I guess I'll see you soon."

"Wait," I said. He took his hand off the door handle and locked eyes with me. "We have to be to work in, like, an hour."

"So?"

Uncharacteristic shyness gripped me. "Why don't you just stay here with me?"

Ezra paused before answering. "Is that a good idea?"

"I, uh," I stammered, looking down at my unsteady hands. "What I mean to say is,  _can_ you stay here with me?"

He tried not to smile when he nodded.

Though the first rays of sunlight were starting to appear, it was still dark in the house, so I led Ezra through by the hand. We walked up the stairs in tandem, quiet steps. Once we were safely in my room and I'd brushed off the dirty clothes on the covers, I turned to look at Ezra, who was surveying his surroundings.

"I can see why you're embarrassed of this place," he whispered, pointing to my framed semi-formal tickets.

"Sorry. I peaked in high school." We laughed quietly, yawned one after another, and laughed again. It was clear that we were past the point of exhaustion, both physically and emotionally.

I leant him a pair of pirate-themed pajama pants, sat on the bed, and took off my shirt. In the process I accidentally glanced over at Ezra, who was in the middle of changing into the pants. His form-fitting underwear rode low and showed off his angular hips, temporarily rendering me paralyzed. He turned, caught me staring, and chuckled as my face flushed.

I'm not sure how we ended up sharing my bed. In fact, it happened without any jokes, awkwardness, or speaking at all. I rearranged the blankets, he crawled in beside me, we claimed our sides (me next to the wall, Ezra straddling the edge) and fell asleep quickly.

Our problems had been left unsolved. Tension lingered in the air between us, but neither of us were bold enough to point it out. Instead, we let it deflate in the background, hoping the other person wouldn't drag it back into the light. It was an irresponsible way to solve things because it didn't solve anything at all.

But for the time being, it worked. We could laugh, flirt, and even sleep next to each other without discomfort, and when I woke up to my alarm going off and felt Ezra's arm pressed against mine, I hit the snooze button for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUICK (and kind of overdue) DISCLAIMER: Please don't imitate the stupid stuff you read in this story. I do not condone drinking as a means of dealing with emotional issues or avoiding problems. Drinking and driving is absolutely not okay. The characters in this story get into a shitload of trouble because of their drinking & drug use. Don't use them as role models in any capacity.
> 
> Now that that's out of the way...
> 
> Q: When you're writing, and the plot seems likely to go somewhere other than intended, do you keep writing, or do you stop and reset the point you were on to go with the original plan?  
> Depends on how off-plan I'm getting. With bigger plot points, if I write something that completely contradicts my intent (no matter how ~well-written~ I think it is), I absolutely go back and change it. A lot of smaller details, however, change ten bazillion times during the writing process.
> 
> Q: How do you find inspiration for your characters (Milo and Ezra specifically)?  
> Life experiences, first and foremost. Music, especially for Milo & Ezra's characters. Then any sort of awesome fiction that I'm consuming at the moment.
> 
> Q: Does Milo have a secret nerdy side?  
> Doesn't everyone?! Milo's much more of a closet nerd than others because he's always been a little preoccupied with following what everyone else is into. You see a little of his nerdiness when he talks about EDM early on, but he was a pretty hardcore gamer back when he was a young teen.
> 
> Q: What's Ezra and Milo's ship name?  
> Oh Lord this is tough. Does anyone have suggestions? (Milo's last name is Leblanc, by the way, I don't think I ever mentioned that)


	20. Aisle 20: Wonderland

**EZRA**

_dude. i'm so serious. i have to piss like a motherfucker_

* * *

**YOU**

_Can you wait like 2 more hours?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_…would you be able to hold a bladder full of piss for 2 hours_

* * *

**YOU**

_If the situation called for it, then yes. And this situation desperately calls for it_

* * *

**YOU**

_I have a feeling you disregarded my warnings and went to go piss_

* * *

**EZRA**

_don't worry your pretty lil head. i have a lie prepared. if your aunt asks about a handsome guy named todd c. lindquist, esq., who had to stop to use the bathroom on his way to buy a maserati, just go along with it ok?_

* * *

"No phones," Ryan commanded as he tapped the back of my hands. "Tell your boyfriend you'll text him back later."

"He's not–" I stopped myself, realizing Ryan didn't know who I was texting and was simply making a par-for-course homophobic remark. "Sorry." I begrudgingly pocketed my phone.

When Ezra and I rolled out of bed that morning, there'd been a message from Nadia on Ezra's phone that basically said,  _you can take the day off, also maybe don't text me at one in the morning._ Apparently at the height of his drunkenness, Ezra texted Nadia some phony story about "a friend who was just taken to the hospital," explaining that he wasn't sure if he'd make it to work the next day.

"Maybe this is The Car God's way of telling me I need to get my vehicle from that parking garage before it gets impounded," Ezra joked.

"The Car God?" I asked as I changed into my Vita-Mart shirt. "Who's that?"

He thought about it for a second. "Lightning McQueen."

I was so exhausted at work that the thought of Ezra's remark made me chuckle to myself. Ryan shot me a look. "What, you got the giggs or something? First you're sexting your boy toy at work, now you're smoking pot on the job? Princess, you're heading down the wrong path." He handed me a clipboard. "Get started on inventory, I need to grab another Coke."

As soon as he disappeared, I ran behind some shelves and checked my phone. The messages I missed made my eyes go wide.

* * *

**EZRA**

_sos_

* * *

**EZRA**

_SOS_

* * *

**EZRA**

_SAVE OUR SHIT_

* * *

**EZRA**

_*SHIP_

* * *

**EZRA**

_ACTUALLY NO I TAKE THAT BACK_

* * *

**EZRA**

_SAVE OUR SHIT_

* * *

"Oh, fuck," I whispered as I frantically typed a reply.

* * *

**YOU**

_What's going on?!_

* * *

**YOU**

_Ezra_

* * *

**YOU**

_Ezra I swear to god if you're fucking with me_

* * *

**YOU**

_Answer me before Ryan comes back and yells at me plz_

* * *

**YOU**

_EZRA_

* * *

**YOU**

_I CAN'T SAVE YOUR SHIT IF I DON'T KNOW WHAT SHIT NEEDS SAVING_

* * *

Ryan filed in a moment later, chugging his second Coke of the morning, cell phone in the opposite hand. To my dismay, I spent the next hour under his careful watch. My heart rate was exceedingly high for someone who was counting eggplants.

The moment he marched off to pull some unnecessary power move, I whipped out my phone and read everything Ezra sent me.

* * *

**EZRA**

_ok so_

* * *

**EZRA**

_funny story_

* * *

**EZRA**

_your aunt is a lovely person_

* * *

**EZRA**

_and yes i'm only saying that cuz the moment she saw me her jaw DROPPED_

* * *

**EZRA**

_but like in a good way cuz i'm sexy as hell (which you knew already)_

* * *

**EZRA**

_i guess i remind her of her favorite actor. not sure his name. i was freakin out on the inside so my ears were a lil plugged w anxiety_

* * *

**EZRA**

_anyway we had coffee and watched some real housewives of super-rich-white-person-ville together before i excused myself_

* * *

**EZRA**

_so in case she asks, i'm on my way to see my sick uncle todd c. lindquist, esq. (he had to get in my story somehow) who lives in pennsylvania, and i stopped by to visit my old friend (you) for the night_

* * *

**EZRA**

_oh and also i'm 24 years old and a youth pastor_

* * *

**EZRA**

_anyway your aunt gave me a bagel and i'm eating it on the bus to the falls to make sure my car is alive (which would be a blessing from our lord and savior, lightning mcqueen)_

* * *

**EZRA**

_i have a feeling ryan's up your asshole right now so i'll leave you to it_

* * *

**EZRA**

_tell him he's a piece of shit for me :)_

* * *

_I am going to kill him_ , I thought repeatedly until I was too amused to do anything but laugh about it. By the time I had to move to the registers for the rest of my shift, I couldn't get over how hilarious the whole situation was.

"Lynette, oh my God," I chuckled as I approached the front of the store. "I have a story for you–" When the person I was talking to turned around, I stopped dead in my tracks and squinted. "You're… not Lynette," I said quietly.

"Ha! Nope." Louise, the other register person I rarely worked with, was holding some kind of  _Game of Thrones_ book in one hand and tapping the counter with the other. "How ya doin', Milo?"

"Great," I said cautiously. "Where's Lynette?"

"Called in sick this morning. I'm the ringer. It's your lucky day." It was not.

Louise was a very expressive reader. She spent the lulls of our shift reacting loudly to whatever was happening in her book, then proceeded to fill me in on which strangely-named characters died, fucked, or were " _totally_   _gonna get it_." As she ranted and raved, I texted under the counter.

* * *

**YOU**

_Hey hey hey where the fuck are you? Louise is going HAM with the game of thrones play by play_

* * *

**LYNETTE**

_am sick_

* * *

**YOU**

_Like… hungover? I figured you were at a bar last night bc of the background noise in your call_

* * *

**LYNETTE**

_i'm actually sick_

* * *

**YOU**

_Oh… sorry_

* * *

**LYNETTE**

_nbd i'll be fine after i sleep more lol… you & ra have tomorrow off riiight?_

* * *

**YOU**

_Yeah, why?_

* * *

**LYNETTE**

_becaaause now you have plans tonight_

* * *

**YOU**

_…The rock?_

* * *

**LYNETTE**

_better than the rock_

* * *

**YOU**

_I have never heard you call anything better than the rock. Are you hallucinating? Do I need to call an ambulance?_

* * *

**LYNETTE**

_looooolllll i'll tell you deets later. gonna nap. enjoy your time with louise_

* * *

I did not enjoy my time with Louise, but I did learn quite a bit about the familial politics of the Targaryens.

After my shift ended, I stopped by my house to grab my things. "Your friend is so nice," said Aunt Myrna, Gatorade in grip. Some Kardashian show played in the background. "Tell him he's welcome back anytime, as long as he brings that adorable face of his." I fought the urge to cringe.

Lynette pushed a beer into my hand as soon as I stepped over the threshold and into the apartment. "Pre-game the pre-game," was her only explanation.

"Geeze, Lynette," I muttered as she handed me a bottle opener. "You bounce back quick. How sick were you, exactly?"

"Sick enough to not wanna work. Healthy enough to party tonight."

"Party where?"

"You'll see," Lynette said, then began rummaging through the cupboards. She was moving faster and talking less than usual. Something was off.

"I'm also being kept in the dark about tonight's plans, if it helps," said Ezra. His legs were propped up on the coffee table beside a few empty beer bottles. "By the way, did you do any praying today?"

I made a face. "You… expected me to?"

"Yes. You should've prayed to a certain vehicle deity," he said. "Lightning McQueen."

I smirked. "Oh, right! I said a full rosary."

"Well, it worked. Got my car back with a mere overnight parking fee."

"I'll drink to that." I clinked bottles with him.

"Shots?" Lynette called out across the room.

I nearly choked on my sip of beer as I looked up at her. She was shaking a shot glass expectantly. "Dude. Do you know how much sleep I got last night?" I asked her.

"Probably just as much as me. Now, I'll ask again: Shots?"

"We did have a late night," said Ezra as I groaned. "A nap wouldn't hurt."

Lynette sighed and stomped off to her room, only to emerge and throw a small square of plastic on the coffee table beside Ezra's feet. "Here's your nap," she stated, indicating the bag of coke. Ezra and I exchanged skeptical glances.

"Maaaybe I'll partake," I drew out. I felt groggy enough to know I'd benefit from a few hits. "But you know Ezra doesn't usually–"

"I'll do it if Milo does."

I whipped my head toward Ezra in shock. He looked me in the eyes and smirked, like he'd agreed just to get that exact reaction out of me.

Lynette quickly sorted the bag's contents into neat little lines on the grimy coffee table. I ignored the rings of condensation from drinks of the past while I did a line through a dollar bill; Ezra went after me. "What's the occasion?" I asked, watching his face contort.

"I have been a zombie since eight this morning," he claimed in a slightly-higher-than-usual tone.

"Oh, right," I said, my nasal cavities buzzing. "You got up at eight, 'cause you were the lucky bitch who got to watch me go to work at six AM while you stayed in bed, wrapped in my soft-ass comforter–"

" _Your_?" Lynette called out from her room. A few  _clack-clack-clack_ s as she power-walked back to the living room signified she'd already changed into her going-out shoes. "Why was he in your comforter, 'Lo?"

I scrunched up my face. "You don't know?" I looked at Ezra. "You didn't tell her?"

He shrugged. "This bitch has been asleep all day… sorry, I mean 'sick.' So we didn't really talk about it."

Lynette gasped. "You guys  _did_ fuck!"

I let out a strained "Ha!" as a reflex. Ezra rolled his eyes. "The logical interpretation is that Milo drove, like, a bazillion miles to the Falls to pick me up, and I ended up crashing at his place. Hence, me in his comforter."

"Oh yeah," Lynette said slowly, seeming to remember our phone call. "So you really did drive last night, huh, 'Lo? Glad you're both still alive."

"Same," I agreed.

"Still think you guys fucked," she muttered under her breath.

My face flushed. "We–"

"Believe what you want," Ezra interjected as he stood up. "Life's more fun that way."

"You're damn right it is." Lynette scuttled over to the kitchen and feverishly began filling the shot glasses with whiskey. "Now, for the aforementioned shots…"

•

Ezra and I followed Lynette as she led us, in five-inch heels, through town. On the way, we took bumps of coke off her fingernails and chased them with whatever was sloshing around in Ezra's flask. By the time we turned onto the street of our destination, the roof of my mouth was numb and Ezra and I were seriously thinking of signing up for a half marathon.

"I could do it. Right?" I asked.

Ezra nodded. "Sure, sure. I could too. With a little training, of course, but– Lynette, what do you think?"

"About what?"

"Could Milo and I run a half marathon?"

Lynette, who was ten paces ahead of us, snorted loudly. "That's the coke talking."

"No, we're serious!" I shouted. "We could  _definitely_ do it! Do you know of any…" I was silenced by the unmistakable sound of house music echoing in the distance. Bass thumped through the pavement and vibrated in my shins.

"We're close," Lynette said. "Shortcut time." She veered down a tight alleyway between buildings, then coaxed us across a ditch filled with dead leaves and discarded beer cans. After traversing through a patch of trees– my antsy legs wanted to run toward the music so I could dance– we saw a large, concrete building in the distance. Colorful lights lit up the windows and there was a line of people waiting out front.

"Here it is," Lynette said, her voice soft.

"What is it?" I asked, awed by the lights.

"A party… rave… thing… of sorts. A bougie one. One that typically costs a buttload of money to get into, if I didn't have  _connects_."

"How did you hear about this?" asked Ezra.

"Does it matter?" She turned to me. "'Lo, follow me to the entrance."

"And I should, what, parachute in from a helicopter?" Ezra said sarcastically.

"I trust you can find a way to sneak in."

Ezra looked at her funny. "Are you for real?"

"Relax," Lynette sighed. "I heard there's windows around the back that are usually open. Plus, you used to pull this shit all the time, so don't give me this 'I can't do it' crap."

"It's not that I can't, it's just that… why can't Milo do it?"

I gulped. The last time I tried to sneak in through a window was at the Sigma Delta Tau house. I scraped my elbow, bruised my hip, and ripped a hole in my favorite  _We're Gonna Bang_ pants. Not to mention an expensive lamp broke my fall, which alerted my fuck buddy's boyfriend to the fact that I was totally sneaking in to bang his girl in the bathroom while he slept. There was no way I was going for a repeat performance, fuck buddy on the line or not.

"Wow, Ezra," I said haughtily, looking him up and down. "I didn't realize you were so, like, uncool. And  _old_. Is that a gray hair I see? Here, let me pluck it out for you…"

Ezra batted my hand away from his head. "You're a little shit, you know that?" he snickered. "I'll do it, and show you I'm still 'hip' and 'with it.'"

"Make sure your Life Alert is on," I called out to him as he walked away. "You know, in case you fall and you can't get up." He flipped me off and disappeared around the corner. While I was blinded by a strobe light shining from the inside, Lynette pulled me toward the entrance. I panicked. "Whoa, what are we doing? How are we getting in? I'm not paying a buttload of money for tickets!"

She stopped, turned on her heel to face me, and kneaded her forehead with her fingertips. "Jesus, you're just as bad as 'Ra."

"We're kindred spirits."

"Kindred in cowardice. You need more of the good stuff, fraidy-cat?" She dove into her purse, rustled around for a bit, and emerged with a lump of powder resting on her coffin-shaped nail. "Come on, we have a party to weasel our way into." I considered protesting, but the bump made me feel so goddamn wired that I forgot.

Before I knew it, we'd marched to the front of the line and Lynette was staring down a muscular bouncer in sunglasses. "Name?" he demanded gruffly.

"Kenny," Lynette breathed. "Good to see you again."

Kenny looked unfazed. " _Name_?" he asserted.

"Dude, come on. It's Lynette." Kenny didn't respond. "Lynette Clifton." Still nothing. She took a deep breath. "Millicent's girl?"

Suddenly, Kenny's face brightened. "Oh, shit, sorry. Couldn't see you clearly with these glasses on. Millicent's inside." He lowered his voice. "Don't think she knew you were coming, if you get my drift."

"I get you," Lynette muttered, her mouth in a straight line.

"Who's your friend?"

"This is my plus-one, Milo. Say hi, 'Lo."

My mind locked onto the last part of her sentence. "HighLo? Yes, DJ HighLo, at your service."

Kenny paused, then burst out laughing. " _DJ_? Sorry, but I think the opener's set is over, pal." Lynette laughed along with him, but simultaneously elbowed me in the stomach as if to say,  _stop being a dumbass_. "Go on in, guys," Kenny said after securing our wristbands.

"What did I do?" I whispered to Lynette as she pulled me inside.

"Completely misinterpreted my sentence. Made yourself stick out like a sore thumb when we aren't technically supposed to be here. But  _whatever_."

"Aren't technically– but that guy said that Millie's here, so shouldn't we be–" I shut up as soon as we passed through a thick velvet curtain and into what could only be described as Wonderland.

The inside of the building was humongous. Colored lights I'd seen from outside changed hues in time with the thumping beat of electronic music. Massive fog machines filled the floor with smoke, making the throng of partygoers look like they were dancing on clouds. An inexplicable trail of bubbles floated around, and girls decked out in season-inappropriate shorts and neon accessories giggled as they popped them.

As one track faded seamlessly into the next, I turned toward the DJ's stage. The set-up matched the extravagance of the party, with flashing lights and a huge projector playing some obscure, acid-trippy film behind the artist. My eyes, however, locked onto the DJ himself.

" _That's Swizzelzz!_ " I shrieked at Lynette over the din of the room. She looked at me confusedly. "Oh my God, you're kidding me! He's the biggest up-and-coming Swiss EDM artist of the moment! He's got that new banger– oh, wait, no, that was on the radio like a year ago– whatever, he's still generating a lot of buzz– Lynette, it's  _Swizzelzz_!"

"Yeah, sure," she said unenthusiastically. "You have fun dancing to Swiss Rolls, I'll be right back."

"His name is Swizz–"

She was already gone. Luckily, the bass was so infectious, I started dancing before I could feel offended. About a minute later (although it felt like hours from how hard I was dancing), my phone went off.

* * *

**EZRA**

_hey! i have successfully snuck into the building!_

* * *

I texted back as I swayed to the beat, a smile spreading across my face.

* * *

**YOU**

_YEEEESS GOOD JOB WHERE YOU AT?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_uh_

* * *

**EZRA**

_well, you know how lynette said to go through a window_

* * *

**EZRA**

_she didn't specify what room the window was in_

* * *

**YOU**

_?_

* * *

A minute passed.

* * *

**YOU**

_?_

* * *

Another minute went by.

* * *

**YOU**

_?_

* * *

**EZRA**

_girl's bathroom_

* * *

**EZRA**

_now_

* * *

**EZRA**

_help_

* * *

**EZRA**

_they're really nice but they're also hitting on me jfc they're SO NICE i don't know how to leave_

* * *

**EZRA**

_WHY ARE DRUNK GIRLS SO NICE_

* * *

I flew off the dance floor like I was off to defuse a bomb, not pull Ezra away from a gaggle of admirers. Eventually I found the bathroom tucked at the end of a dimly lit hallway. Laughter could be heard from outside the door when I knocked.

"Hello!" I bellowed, silencing the inner chamber. "I am a mere boy searching for another boy who scrambled in through a window," I explained. "Average height and build. Looks like he hasn't slept in a week."

"Is that you?" a muffled female voice asked.

Another girl opened the door. She was grinning. "Hi! Your friend is–" Then she paused and looked me in the eyes. "Wow, you're cute too. Why are both of you so cute?"

"Oh, thanks–"

"Milo!" Ezra called out as he maneuvered through his adoring fans to get to me. Thankfully, the bathroom had a small, empty area with a few doors leading to private stalls, so our presence in the girls' room wasn't  _as_ weird as it could've been. "Man, I'm glad to see you," he said as he patted my shoulder.

"Aww," cooed one of the girls. "Bromance."

A surge of irritation collided with my heightened impulsivity. "Bromance?" I repeated, then put my arm around Ezra's waist and pulled him into me. "Nah, there's nothing  _bro_ about this." I could feel warmth flood to Ezra's face when I gave him a peck on the cheek. "Thanks for taking care of my boy for me."

"No problem," said the girl who'd opened the door. All flirtatiousness was absent from her tone and replaced with shock. "Oh my God, you guys are even cuter together," she murmured.

"It's a blessing and a curse." I winked, waved, and walked off with my hand around Ezra's hip while the girls' room exploded with giggles. Arm still embracing Ezra, we made a beeline for a small opening at the nearest bar fixture. The bartender was pouring flaming shots for a bunch of guys in snapbacks. "So drunk girls are actually nice, huh?" I asked Ezra. "Like, it's not just a myth?"

He vigorously shook his head. "It wasn't just a stream of compliments, man, it was a fuckin' flood. They boosted my ego by a million. I didn't even realize they were flirting until one of the girls asked for my number."

"What did you do?"

"Gave it to her," Ezra replied, shrugging. "Though after that stunt you pulled, I doubt she'll be begging for a date." He nodded at my hand, which was gripping his waist. I retracted my arm and smiled sheepishly. "Way to protect 'your boy.'" He seemed proud of that label.

"Hey, it got them off your back, didn't it?" I said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "Besides, I'm not the one who busted in through the worst window in the entire building."

"Well, first off, I had no idea it was the fuckin' girls' room." He leaned on the counter, waiting to get the bartender's attention. "Second, I'm a danger-loving motherfucker."

"Says the guy who didn't want to break in in the first place."

"Says the guy who didn't break in at all." He smirked as he ordered us a couple flaming shots. After downing those, he paid for a round of drinks. I didn't even have to tell him what I wanted. He just knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! No Q&A this time b/c lack of questions (boo) but you guys are still welcome to ask me anything about the story/characters/me/etc!
> 
> Thank you all for being the greatest readers ever, your support is everything to me, foorrrr reaaaaal.
> 
> Enjoy the update! Next time: Milo and Ezra decide to party in their own little way...


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